The Dragon of Throxenby
by zelofheda-B
Summary: Guy leaves Nottingham in search of a healing spring to mend his broken heart, but finds instead a girl about to be eaten by a dragon – and that's only the beginning. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Dragon of Throxenby

Author: Zelofheda

Genre: Adventure

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild violence

Timeline: After Series Two; AU for Series Three

Synopsis: Guy leaves Nottingham in search of a healing spring to mend his broken heart, but finds instead a girl about to be eaten by a dragon – and that's only the beginning.

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to the series of Robin Hood on BBC1 and to Tiger Aspect Productions. I am only borrowing them to entertain, with no intent to profit.

xxxxx

Guy of Gisborne woke to a waterfall that hadn't been there when he'd fallen asleep. Shocked into wakefulness, he jerked upright, blinking not only to get the water out of his eyes, but also because of the daylight, which hadn't been there either when he'd nodded off. He was sitting at the table in the great hall of the castle, and Vasey, the Sheriff of Nottingham, was holding a pitcher over his head, letting the last few drops fall down onto him.

"Gisborne, you're a disgrace," Vasey told him. "Get up!"

Wincing at the intensity of the man's voice, Guy stood up. His head throbbed all the way down to his teeth and even the ends of his hair, his mouth was dry and felt like he'd been eating badger fur, and his stomach was threatening to rebel. He wanted to start drinking all over again.

"Next time I find you passed out _in my chair_, I won't wake you with water," Vasey went on. "I'll just have the guards drag you out into the forest for Hood to find."

Hood! Merely hearing the word was enough; Guy's stomach roiled and he threw up, right onto the Sheriff's feet.

"Won't that be fun – ugh!" Disgusted, Vasey jumped back. Somewhere in the hall, someone laughed, and Vasey whirled. Guy was dimly aware of the sound of the pitcher hitting the floor, and fleeing footsteps, and then of the Sheriff coming around behind him. He'd barely finished vomiting when Vasey's foot connected with his backside and sent him sprawling facedown into his own mess.

"Get out of my sight, and don't come back until you're sober!" Vasey shrieked.

Guy got up slowly and walked out, revolted by the stench of his own vomit all over the front of his leather jacket. He had trouble undoing the clasps, as they were now wet and slippery, but by the time he'd exited the hall, he'd managed to get them open. After he'd slipped out of the jacket, he grabbed the nearest serving girl and pushed the clothing into her hands. "Get this cleaned up, now!"

"Yes, my lord." She spoke quickly, frightened, and ran off. Guy continued on outside until he reached the well, then drew up a bucket, took a drink, and washed his fingers in the water. It was unusually cold for this month, and being outside with wet hair and without his jacket made him shiver. October, he thought. It was October, almost a year to the day that they'd set off for the Holy Land – he, the Sheriff, and Marian. Only two of them had returned.

Guy glanced up at the castle. The great stone building was full of memories. He swore he could feel her presence, both inviting and disapproving, whenever he passed by her chamber, or the place where they had kissed. The tree in the courtyard, the balcony … everything reminded him of her. It wasn't any different at Locksley Manor, either. She'd come to visit him there once, and now he couldn't even enter the house without remembering. He'd had such hopes of her last year. Hopes that she would forget the outlaw Robin Hood, and turn to him, Guy, instead. Hopes that she would finally accept his offer of marriage – accept him. But then it had all gone wrong, and in the Holy Land, he'd realized that his hopes had been in vain. She hadn't been softening to him at all, she'd merely been playing for time while she accepted – Hood! Even thinking the name enraged him, and brought with it renewed anguish at how he'd reacted to Marian's simple statements. "I'm going to marry Robin Hood. I love Robin Hood."

Guy emptied the bucket, flinging the rest of the water violently away and nearly hitting a passing guard. The man gave him a look of annoyance, which changed quickly to wariness when he saw who was responsible for his near-shower, and hurried away. Guy scowled. Normally, he would have gone right back inside, to the kitchens, and demanded more wine, but suddenly, the thought sickened him. He wanted to get away, he realized, ride somewhere where Marian had never been, where he could breathe without being surrounded and smothered by memories of her.

First things first, he thought, and headed to the nearest privy. It was the three-seater next to the kitchens, and he could hear two maids giggling inside as he approached. Not willing to share the space with anybody, and especially not _lepers_, as the Sheriff referred to women and which Guy was starting to agree with, Guy went around to one side and waited.

"My old dad always swore by the healing spring in Throxenby," one of the maids was saying. "My dad said he met a man once who'd cut his finger off, but he ran right over to the spring, put his hand in, and grew a new finger, right then and there!"

The second maid made a sound of astonishment. "What do you think would happen if –" there was a silence – "went to this spring in Throxenby and put his hand in?"

"He's that evil, he'd turn the water black," the first maid said, and they both giggled. The second maid went on, "I was thinking, what if he fell in completely? With all that drink in him, he'd turn the water into wine!"

They both screamed with laughter for a short moment, and then the sound was abruptly cut off, as though they'd both slapped their hands over their mouths at the same time.

Guy shifted from one foot to the next and wondered how much longer they were going to be. Were they even using the privy, or had they merely gone in to escape work for a few moments while they gossipped? He was just considering banging on the wooden structure and threatening to cut their own fingers off if they didn't hurry up when the door slammed open and the girls exited, still grinning. But as Guy stepped forwards and they caught sight of his impatient glare, sheer terror wiped the smiles from their faces. They glanced at each other, one of them caught the other's hand, and then they both ran as though the devil himself were after them.

Healing spring, Guy thought once he was inside. Growing a new finger? If only he could grow a new Marian. Or a new heart, one that didn't ache so fiercely. He imagined himself standing at the edge of the spring, running the blade of his sword through his own chest, then falling backwards into the water and emerging a new man … or not at all. He couldn't decide which choice sounded more appealing, as hell certainly couldn't be any worse than his life now. And since the Sheriff had practically ordered him out of the castle, since there were very few places Guy could retreat to without running into him eventually, there was nothing to stop him from going to the spring.

He stepped out of the privy, and saw the maid to whom he'd given his leather jacket to be cleaned. She thrust it at him and scarcely waited to make sure he'd grabbed it before letting go and scurrying away. Pulling it on and frowning at its dampness, Guy made his way to the stables, and called for his horse. He'd ride to Locksley first for drier clothing and supplies, and then see how far he could get before sundown.

xxxxx

It was late afternoon some days later when Guy approached the coast. It had been cloudy all day, and now the fog was coming up as well so that the closer he got to the coast, the less he could see. There was a clicking sound from beneath him, as his horse's shoe struck a rock, and Guy glanced first down, and then all around. When had the path disappeared? He had no idea where he was. Cautiously, he turned his horse around and tried to determine exactly which way he'd come, in hopes that he'd left the path only a few steps behind, but although he searched in ever-widening circles, he couldn't find it again.

He noticed the brush, lying in a tiny pool of something dark, but paid it no mind until, several steps beyond, he came upon a bucket, lying on its side, with a remnant of dried pitch inside, and more spilled on the ground around. Squinting into the fog, Guy spotted a dark, rounded shape farther away, and rode in that direction. It was a coracle, lying bottom up, and when he got close enough, Guy could see that it was only half covered with pitch. The outer layer ended abruptly in mid-stroke, with a few spatters on the untreated side, as though something had frightened the boatmaker's owner so badly that he'd dropped everything and run away.

It was quiet. Guy had expected at least the sound of gulls, now that he was so close to the sea, but they were as silent as everything else. Then, all the more loud for being the only sound audible, something flapped overhead, something high enough to be hidden by the mists and the clouds. Its wings sounded much bigger than a hawk, bigger even than the vultures Guy had seen in the Holy Land. A moment later, something huge and dark swooshed over Guy from behind, leaving behind a stench like sulfur and dead rats rotting away. His horse whinnied in terror and reared instantly, dumping Guy on the ground behind it, then bolted away with another panicked whinny. Gathering himself up, Guy scanned the sky for a better look, but whatever it was, it had disappeared, and he could only see the grey of the fog.

A woman screamed.

It sounded so much like Marian that Guy's heart froze. He had just started to convince himself that he was imagining things when she screamed again, and this time he heard a distinct call for help. It still sounded like Marian, so much that his legs jerked to life and ran of their own accord in the direction from which the screams were coming.

"Somebody, please help!" came the anguished cry, and through the fog, Guy could see a woman in a white dress, tied by her hands to two wooden posts. As he crashed forward, he remembered that Marian had had a white dress, and Marian's hair had been about that length. But when he got close enough to see the woman properly, he realized it wasn't the same dress, or the same colour of hair. This young woman wasn't Marian.

Hearing his footsteps, the young woman twisted around, and their eyes locked.

"Draw your sword!" she cried, and Guy did so. He thought she must mean for him to cut the ropes that held her, but as he came forwards to do so, she looked above him to the sky and screeched, "No! Kill the dragon!"

Dragon! Half-turning, both hands on his sword hilt, Guy followed her gaze. The creature came in low, gliding close enough for him to get a good look as he slashed at it. It was larger than a horse, with a vast wingspan, and had dark green scales like armour that repelled his sword and even knocked it out of his hands without allowing so much as a scratch. Staggering to keep his balance, and getting a noseful of the same stench as before, Guy wondered who could defeat such a beast, and how. It must have wheeled around on a wingtip, because it came back almost instantly from the opposite direction, and as soon as it spotted Guy, it opened its mouth and breathed fire. Instinctively, Guy jumped and rolled out of the way, and the girl cried out again.

Fire! Armour! The two concepts sparked a memory in his mind, of a suit of armour he'd once worn, made of special metal. It had repelled both swords and arrows, and he'd thought he was invincible inside it, until Robin Hood had smeared him with pitch and set him on fire. Then the armour had become a deadly trap, and only a nearby tub of washwater had saved him from being broiled alive inside it. Could he defeat the dragon in the same way that Robin Hood had defeated him? It was worth a try – his sword certainly wasn't doing him any good. Guy ran back to the bucket of pitch, knelt down, and pulled his dagger and his firestone from inside his belt. He'd just hit one spark when the dragon swooped down at him a second time, and he had to dive to one side to escape its flaming breath. Rolling back, he saw that the dragon's fire had done his work for him and ignited the pitch. Blessing his leather gloves, Guy picked up the now flaming bucket and raced back to where he'd dropped his sword. When the dragon came at him again, he danced out of the way and flung the burning contents of the bucket up at the beast.

A gob of flaming pitch hit one wing, and the fire spread so rapidly that the entire wing was consumed in two heartbeats. Howling in pain, unable to keep aloft with only one wing, the burning beast crashed badly several yards away, and Guy clearly heard bones snap. Keeping hold of the bucket, but snatching up his sword with his other hand, Guy ran to see how much damage he'd managed to inflict. Its left wing was now nothing more than a series of twitching bones and cartilage, both of its back legs had been broken upon impact, and the scales on its left flank were burning, though slower and more steadily than its flimsier wing.

He came upon it from the rear and saw that it had pushed itself up onto its forelegs, but as he approached, it went down again. Perhaps hearing or even smelling him, the dragon whipped its head around on its long neck to catch sight of him, then opened its mouth and flamed at him across the remains of its left wing. Just barely far enough away to avoid the fiery blast, Guy waited until the flames had died away, then raced forward and threw the entire bucket at its right wing. He hadn't reckoned with its tail, however, and it lashed him across the back, flattening him to the ground and knocking the breath out of him. As it flailed aimlessly in agony and rage, Guy forced himself back to his feet, noting that the fire on its left flank had almost completely burned away the scales there. He staggered three steps, then lifted his sword and plunged it into the dragon's side, using his body weight to drive it as deeply as he could. Screaming, the dragon arched its neck and caught his arm between its powerful jaws, its teeth sinking into his own flesh and dragging him down. He kept hold of his sword, however, pulling it out even as he fell onto one knee, and stabbed the dragon again. Its jaws relaxed as it died, and its long neck flopped gracelessly to the ground.

After resting on his knees for a long moment, Guy heaved himself upright and wrenched his sword out of the carcass. The stains on the blade were greenish-black, like some kind of witch's evil brew, and stank even worse. He wiped it on a clump of nearby grass, then made his way back to where the girl was standing.

"You're alive?" she asked as Guy approached. "You killed it?"

"Are you hurt?" Instead of sawing through the ropes, Guy simply whacked at them, and the girl's arms fell free.

"Just worried that you wouldn't come in time," the girl said. She was quite plain, but she had a nice smile.

When Guy lowered his sword to sheathe it, the blade crumbled, and he stared at it in consternation. The dragon's blood had corroded the steel! Suddenly frightened that he might have got some of the caustic liquid on himself, he tossed the hilt away and quickly checked his arms, legs, and body. His gloves were burnt, and he ripped them off, afraid that the skin underneath had been eaten away, but to his great relief, it was still there and his hands were unmarked.

The girl fingered his sleeve. "You're bleeding."

Guy pulled the dagger from his belt and ripped viciously through the leather, tearing it open. It was all his own blood, reassuringly red as it flowed from various puncture wounds down to his wrist. Although it was already starting to throb, he was relieved that it wasn't burning.

Holding out the skirt of her white dress, the girl said, "Cut this off, and I'll bandage you up."

He used his dagger to slice off the lower part of her dress, just below her knees, and she tore the material into strips, then bound his arm. "There, that should hold until we get back to the castle."

"Thank you," Guy said, and then, because he could tell, if not by her clothes, then certainly by her quietly imperious manner, that she was not a simple peasant girl, he added awkwardly, "My lady."

"Thank you, Sir Knight, for saving me, and all of us, from that dragon!" she replied. "Can you walk? We must go back to the town and tell everybody that it's dead!"

The way back to town led them past the still-burning hulk of the dragon, and Guy asked, "Where did it come from?"

"Where does any dragon come from?" The girl shrugged. "It came just before harvest time. My grandfather, who has the second sight, said that if the Earl would offer it a maiden from time to time, it would be satisfied and not destroy us. He also said that a knight in black leather would be able to defeat it. But it has been one maiden a week since then, and although many knights have come and dressed up in black leather before trying to kill it, it slaughtered them all. Their bodies are down on the beach – none of them tried to burn it to death, though."

She smiled up at him in praise and admiration, but Guy remembered where he'd got the idea, and scowled.

"You are in pain," the girl said, "and I talk too much. Lean on me if you need to, and I will be quiet."

The town was only an hour's walk away, but by the time they arrived, Guy felt as fatigued as though he'd been walking for a week. His arm throbbed with every heartbeat and his head had started to ache, too. To his surprise, however, the gates were locked and the entire town was as quiet – no, subdued – as though it were the middle of the night instead of close to suppertime. The girl strode forward and hammered on the gate with her fist, and a tiny window in the door opened to show the face of an old, grizzled guard.

"Who are you and what do you want?" he demanded.

"The dragon is dead!" the girl cried. "Please let us in, I must tell the Earl!"

The guard's mouth dropped open as he stared at her, and then he pulled back and slammed the window shut. They could hear him calling commands, and then the huge wooden door creaked open to reveal not only the old guard, but several others as well. As Guy and the young lady entered, he felt their stares and heard them murmuring among themselves.

"Is it true, my lady?" one of the younger ones called out. "The dragon's dead?"

"The dragon is dead," the girl announced in a loud, clear voice. "This is the knight who killed it. Please let us through to the Earl."

"I'll go tell him you're coming, my lady!" the young guard called out, and dashed away. The girl followed him more slowly, and Guy made an effort to walk at her side and not fall behind. The farther they went, the more people came out of their houses to stare at them, and Guy could hear them whispering in awed tones as they passed by. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself on his bed, or even a convenient pile of straw, and simply close his eyes, but the public scrutiny made him stand taller and stride instead of slumping and plodding.

The castle in Throxenby was little more than an ancient stone keep with a slightly more modern great hall added to one side. The Earl was standing on the steps, surrounded by his entire household, and more people had gathered around at ground level. The girl approached to a respectful distance, then curtsied. Guy bowed stiffly, and even before he'd straightened up, the people began cheering and clapping, only stopping when the Earl raised one hand slightly.

"Is it true?" he asked. "The dragon is dead?"

"Yes, my lord," Guy replied, and the girl beside him said, "It lies dead about a hundred and fifty yards from the place of sacrifice, my lord, and I saw its dead body with my own eyes."

"You cannot conceive how happy I am to hear that, or how happy I am to see our Quenilda again, alive and unhurt," the Earl said, coming down a step. "I am sorrowed that you have not escaped unscathed, and I will offer you our hospitality to tend your wounds. But tell me, Sir Knight. How were you able to defeat the dragon when so many others before you have failed?"

"He burned it, my lord," Quenilda gushed, and the Earl raised his eyebrows. "Burned it?"

"My lord, I found a bucket with some pitch nearby," Guy reported. "I set it on fire, threw it at the dragon, and burned its wing off. It fell to the ground and I stabbed it with my sword."

Everybody clapped and cheered again, much louder this time. In between the cheers, Guy could also hear a minstrel plucking a lute in a happy tune. It made his head ache even more, and he winced. The Earl let the noise go on for much too long before signalling again for silence.

"I made a vow before God to reward the man who slayed the dragon," the Earl said. "I will keep that vow. Sir Knight, I have two daughters. You may choose which one you will take in in marriage."

Guy scowled down at Quenilda. She hadn't mentioned any rewards, and especially not _marriage_. The word soured his stomach; he felt physically ill just thinking of it.

"You have already met my younger daughter, Quenilda."

Ignoring his scowl, Quenilda grinned up at him, obviously delighting in his surprise. Then the Earl waved forward a taller young woman, very beautiful in contrast to her sister. "And this is my older daughter, Isolda."

Smiling coyly at Guy, Isolda curtsied, and the Earl continued, "I am Alfward, the Earl of Throxenby. May we know your name, Sir Knight?"

Guy swallowed. Was it just his imagination, or had everything gone blurry for a moment? "I am Sir Guy of Gisborne."

There was a collective gasp of horror from all the women, except from the one who actually screamed. Isolda's coy, hopeful expression turned to one of horror, and she threw herself onto her knees at the Earl's feet, wrapping her arms around his legs. "My lord, not him, please don't make me marry him, I beg you!"

"Sir Guy," the Earl said, and his voice had changed, too, from warm and welcoming to something much colder. "Your reputation precedes you."

Guy sighed. It was bad enough that he himself was responsible for the death of the woman he'd loved, but did everybody in the country know what he'd done? That minstrel had no doubt been singing songs of Robin Hood, his men in the forest, and – Marian. Could he never be free of reminders, no matter where he went or what he did? His fatigure was getting worse; he had to speak carefully to avoid slurring his words as he said, "My lord, I did not come here seeking rewards."

"Then why did you come?" the Earl asked.

Guy didn't want to explain that he'd simply been defending himself, that he thought he'd heard Marian, or that he'd lost his way in the fog. Everything was becoming blurry again, and his legs were trembling with the effort of keeping him upright.

"The healing spring, my lord," Quenilda said. "He is in pain."

The last thing that Guy saw was her face, looking up at him in concern. Then his knees buckled and he collapsed into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

As always, constructive criticism is welcome!

xxxxx

Quenilda knelt down at Sir Guy's side, turning him onto his back and unwrapping the makeshift bandages around his arm. The skin had been otherwise healthy, the wounds bleeding freely when she'd bound them, but now she could see the swelling and redness of infection. How quickly it had developed!

"Eva!" she called, and when her personal maidservant stepped forward, Quenilda commanded, "Run to the healing spring and bring back two buckets full!"

"Yes, my lady," Eva replied, but lingered long enough to ask, "Will he die, my lady?"

Others were crowding in as well for a look as well, including Isolda, braver now that the notorious Sir Guy was unconscious at her feet, and all of them were silently echoing the question. Raising her voice slightly, Quenilda said, "Not if you hurry!"

"It looks as though the dragon bit him," the Earl mused, and Quenilda nodded. "Perhaps its bite is as poisonous as a spider's."

"Perhaps … it would be a kindness to … let him go?" Isolda suggested timorously.

"Isolda!" the Earl chided her, and Isolda lowered her gaze, blushing in shame.

"He saved my life," Quenilda snapped, "I am honour bound to at least try to save his!"

"Absolutely right, Quenilda," the Earl said.

Quenilda looked around. "Humphrey, Godfrey, are you about? Carry Sir Guy to my own chamber, quickly!"

The two brothers shuffled forwards and heaved Sir Guy up by his knees and shoulders. The crowd made room for them to get through to the stairs, and as Quenilda made to follow them, the Earl said, "I will send Albreda to you."

Albreda was the local wise-woman, Quenilda's mentor, and Quenilda nodded in relief. "Thank you, my lord."

The Earl stopped then, and ran his hand down the side of her face, smiling down at her. "I am glad you were not eaten, my daughter."

Quenilda leaned into his hand and smiled back at him. "So am I, my lord." Then she curtsied, and ran after the two servants.

Once inside her chamber, the brothers barely waited until Quenilda had pulled back the covers before heaving Sir Guy onto the bed. Relieved of their burden, they gave Quenilda perfunctory bows, obviously ready to leave before she could give them more tasks to do. She'd already anticipated that, however, and put one of her hands on each of their shoulders, giving them a gentle push in the direction she wanted them to go. "Humphrey, build up the fire. Bring a supply of wood, and one of the larger kettles from the kitchen. Godfrey, help me undress him."

Godfrey heaved a longsuffering sigh and plodded to the bed, tugging at Sir Guy's boots until they came off. At Quenilda's command, he also held Sir Guy upright while Quenilda worked his jacket and his shirt off, then helped slip the man's trousers from his legs.

"Hot," Godfrey said simply, and Quenilda nodded. Sir Guy was already burning with fever, and she tucked the covers around him before he could catch a chill. He'd need liquid, she thought, and glanced around to see Godfrey slinking towards the door. "Bring me ale, Godfrey, and ask the cook for broth, too!"

Godfrey's shoulders slumped as he went out, making room for Humphrey coming in with one of the medium-sized kettles from the kitchen.

"Thank you, Humphrey, now bring enough water to fill it this far to the top," Quenilda told him, indicating the correct level with her fingers. Heaving the same longsuffering sigh as his brother, Humphrey went out again.

Godfrey with the ale and news about the broth, Humphrey with the water, and Eva with the two buckets from the healing spring all arrived at the same time. Quenilda watched just long enough to make sure that the two brothers settled everything properly and didn't spill, then motioned her personal maidservant to bring the buckets over to the bed. She'd already prepared several cloths, and now she took one up, removed the lid from the first bucket, and dipped it in. As she washed Sir Guy's arm, Eva said, "He doesn't look so frightening like that, my lady."

"He didn't look frightening when I first saw him," Quenilda said, remembering. "He looked …" She didn't finish the sentence. "Mix some of this spring water with the ale. It's bitter, but he needs it inside him, and ale will mask its taste."

Eva fixed up a goblet's worth of watered ale, then handed it over and helped hold Sir Guy's head up so that Quenilda could spoon some into his mouth. He swallowed automatically, despite twitching restlessly every so often, and when he'd finished half a cup, Quenilda took the goblet away and let Eva lay his head down again. "That will do for now. We'll give him more later."

Sir Guy remained ill for three days. Albreda came, and together she and Quenilda made poultices of herbs to draw the infection from his wounds. Twice a day, Quenilda bathed his arm in the water from the healing spring, and also used the water to prepare herbal infusions that would help bring his fever down. There were times when he slept more or less peacefully, but also times when he cried out in his dreams, raging inarticulately, or calling the name "Marian!" in the most heartbreakingly yearning, desperate tone of voice that Quenilda had ever heard.

On the second day, the Earl and Quenilda's mother came by to look in on their guest. Quenilda and Eva had been spooning ale into Sir Guy's mouth when they arrived, but hastily put spoon and goblet away and stood up to curtsy.

"How is he?" the Earl asked, standing at the bedside and looking thoughtfully down at Sir Guy.

"Very ill, father," Quenilda told him. She only used that form of address when they were alone, and it never failed to make the Earl smile fondly at her.

"Will he die?" the Earl asked.

"I do not know, father, but Albreda and I are doing everything we can."

"I know you are," the Earl replied. "I know you are."

"He did not look like a monster," Quenilda's mother said, watching Sir Guy toss restlessly. She looked up into Quenilda's eyes and clarified, "When he brought you back to us. He didn't look like a monster."

"No, he didn't," Quenilda agreed, happy that her mother understood.

"Why do you think he came so far from Nottingham?" the Earl asked, looking quizzically at her. "He has an evil reputation, and not only when it comes to money, but he said he wasn't seeking rewards. Do you think he really was only looking for the healing spring?"

"He was in pain, father," Quenilda said, shutting her eyes to better remember her first impressions. Her first actual sighting of Sir Guy, however, was mixed up with what she'd seen beforehand in her mind. "And he was … lost. In more ways than one. I think he truly was seeking only the spring."

"Hood!" Sir Guy screeched suddenly, making them all jump. Hastily, Quenilda patted his forehead with a damp cloth, a gesture that usually soothed him. Sir Guy reached up and batted at her arm, but then his hand fell back limply.

"We will go now," the Earl reported. "Do not hesitate to send word if … anything happens, my daughter."

"We will pray for him," Quenilda's mother added, and they quietly exited the room. As soon as they were gone, Quenilda glanced over to Eva and said, "Help me change the bedlinens."

"Not again, my lady," Eva grumbled goodnaturedly, but she was already reaching for the coverings.

On the third evening, Isolda stopped by, opening the door just enough to put her head in and whisper, "Quen?"

"Come in, Izzie," Quenilda said. Amused, she watched as Isolda entered the room, but remained standing tensely just inside the doorway, glancing warily towards the bed.

"It's quite safe, he's asleep, he won't bite, and he hasn't turned into a dragon," Quenilda chided her. Isolda gave her a chagrined look.

"Ivo's just sung me a new song that he heard," Isolda said, coming a step closer. Ivo was the unofficial court minstrel, now that the master minstrel under whom he had been studying suffered badly from arthritis. Even though she'd known of Isolda's love of songs and singing from the time they were girls, Quenilda privately thought that Isolda was spending too much time making music with Ivo.

"A song that he's heard?" Quenilda asked, getting up from her stool and going to meet Isolda halfway. "I thought he'd be busy writing and performing his own new song about Sir Guy slaying the dragon."

"He's working on it," Isolda said. "We were trying together to find a rhyme for "Sir Guy," and we got as far as "die" and "pie." But as I was saying, this new song claims that Robin Hood will pay a bounty of fifty pounds to the man who brings Sir Guy alive to him in Sherwood Forest!"

Quenilda glanced automatically back to the man in the bed, but he remained sleeping quietly. "Why would Robin Hood do that?"

"Isn't it obvious? Sir Guy killed Robin Hood's lady love in cold blood, now Robin Hood wants revenge!" Isolda cried, her eyes bright with excitement.

"But surely Robin Hood had plenty of chances for revenge already," Quenilda protested.

"According to the song, Robin Hood thinks that Sir Guy is a coward, running away from Nottingham."

"Well, he was no coward when he killed the dragon," Quenilda told her, more annoyed than ever at her sister's infaturation with Robin Hood and the many legends about the famous outlaw that were circling England.

"Hmm," Isolda said, then returned to her initial worry. "Quen … if Sir Guy lives … have you had any dreams about which one of us he will choose to marry?"

"No," Quenilda said, reaching out to place her hand on Isolda's arm. "No, I haven't."

"I don't want it to be me." Isolda smiled a little in embarrassment. "I'd be frightened to death! I know I'm very ungrateful. If he hadn't come, the lottery of maidens would still be going on, and I could have been chosen next for the dragon to eat. I should be happy that he saved my life, and yours, and I am, truly, but I just can't imagine … marrying him."

"I know," Quenilda said. "But we must let him choose, that was our father's oath."

"Well, it wasn't my oath," Isolda murmured, or at least Quenilda thought she heard something to that effect. More loudly, Isolda asked, "Have you had any dreams that show if he will live or die?"

"No, I haven't," Quenilda said. "What about Grandfather, have you asked him?"

"I was going to him next," Isolda admitted. She hesitated, but then her curiosity obviously got the better of her, because she asked, "Have you had any dreams about Robin Hood?"

Quenilda sighed. Robin Hood again! "Isolda, I haven't had any dreams since the one about the dragon coming."

"So you haven't seen him in your dreams at all?" Isolda went on.

Quenilda knew suddenly what she wanted to hear, and said, "Isolda, I did not see Robin Hood and I cannot tell you whether he truly is as handsome and graceful as all the songs tell us."

Isolda flushed guiltily, and Quenilda continued, "But I do know that Sir Guy is not the monster we expected from the songs. He is not even ugly – come and see."

Licking her lips nervously, Isolda crept just close enough to the bed that she could see Sir Guy's face. "He is not deformed, that is true, but –"

Sir Guy sat suddenly bolt upright in bed and cried out, "Marian!" Startled, Isolda let out a little scream and ran for the door, pulling it shut behind her with a bang. Sighing again, Quenilda took Sir Guy's hand. "Sshhh, sshhh, it's all right."

"Marian!" he called again, and then let out a tormented wail that made the hair on the back of Quenilda's neck stand up. Sir Guy collapsed back onto the bed, rolling onto his side and sobbing as she'd never heard a man cry before, not even her grandfather when her grandmother had died. Quenilda patted the tears from his face with a cloth, wishing Isolda had stayed to see them. If she could only hear his pain, she wouldn't be terrified of him anymore.

To Quenilda's surprise, the door opened then, but even before she could get her hopes up that Isolda had come back, she realized it was only Eva, bringing in two more buckets of fresh water from the healing spring.

"My lady, is he crying because of Lady Isolda?" Eva asked in her most innocent voice, and Quenilda gave her a sharp look while trying to hide her smile. "No, Eva, he was calling for Marian again. Bring the water closer. We'll change his bandages, wash his arm, and give him some broth."

xxxxx

Guy opened his eyes. It was daylight and he glanced around the room. He was in a bed, and the hangings of green cloth had been tied back. Green? Those weren't any bed hangings that he knew. The room itself was unfamiliar, too, its walls were made of different stone, and the windows, far from being as large as those at Nottingham Castle, were merely two arrow slits. Between the windows were shelves with all kinds of containers, of glass, clay, wood, and other materials, and bundles of drying herbs hung everywhere. Where was he? Some kind of apothecary? Confused, he rolled his head across the pillow, wondering why he felt so exhausted when he'd obviously been asleep for some time. Perhaps he'd been drinking again. His head certainly ached enough.

There was a girl sitting on a stool near the fireplace, slumped sideways against the wall with her eyes closed in sleep. He thought he recognized her face, and yet he couldn't quite place it. He did remember that she'd had her hair loose when he'd first seen it, though it was now caught in a thick plait down the middle of her back.

Eventually, Guy became aware that he was going to have to seek out the privy, and made a motion to push back the heavy covers. His left arm ached sharply, and he grunted in discomfort as he pushed down on it, struggling to sit up. When had he become so weak?

Hearing him, the girl blinked and looked at him, then stretched both arms above her head as she straightened up. Seeing her in that pose brought Guy's memory back sharply, and he knew her then – Quenilda, the daughter of the Earl of Throxenby, the girl he'd saved from the dragon. And the dragon had bitten him in the arm, and that was why it hurt now, though it didn't explain why he was so weak he could hardly stay upright.

"Good morning, Sir Guy," Quenilda said, then yawned hugely and covered her mouth with both hands. When she lowered them, she was smiling. "The dragon is dead, the fog has gone, the sun is shining to-day, and you are still alive. It is indeed a good morning. Would you like a drink of ale?"

Guy told her what he needed first, and she glanced around the room, then went to the corner and returned with an empty bucket. "You have been ill for three days, you shouldn't get up just yet."

"Three days!" Guy protested, his voice cracking. Quenilda went modestly to one of the arrow slits as he used the bucket, and only turned around after Guy had laid down again, shivering with cold and shaking with the exertion.

"You had a very high fever because of the infection in your arm," Quenilda said, removing the bucket and setting it by the door. "Does it still hurt? I'll give you something for the pain in your ale."

Guy watched as she went to a small table nearby, then mixed ale, a bit of water, and dried herbs in a goblet before stirring it vigorously. "Drink of all this, now. You need it."

Kneeling at the side of the bed, Quenilda slipped her arm under his shoulders and helped him sit up enough to sip. The mixture was so bitter that Guy spit the first mouthful out.

"Stop that and drink it," Quenilda commanded. Trying not to gag, Guy did so, and when he'd finished, Quenilda took the goblet away and smiled. "Now you may have some regular ale, to wash the taste out of your mouth."

She rinsed the goblet, emptying the contents into the slops bucket, then poured it half full with ale and let him take several swallows. He was just finishing when the door opened and a young woman in servant's garb entered, carrying a bundle of linen.

"Eva, look, Sir Guy is awake," Quenilda exclaimed happily, removing her arm from under Guy's neck and letting him settle down onto the pillow again.

"Wonderful news, my lady," Eva said. "Can he sit up while we change the sheets, then?"

"No, I don't think he can," Quenilda said. Guy relaxed upon hearing her words; he had felt a moment of indignation that he would be wrestled out from under the covers and forced to balance, aching and shivering, on the only stool in the room while they stripped the bed and re-made it. Quenilda stroked his hair away from his eyes with a gentle smile as she continued, "And anyway, they're not wet just at the moment, we can do them later. Empty that bucket now and when you get back, I'll go and tell the Earl the good news."

"Yes, my lady," Eva said. Feeling sleepy again although he'd just woken up, Guy watched as she placed the linen on the chest at the foot of the bed, but his eyes were already closing as she came over to pick up the bucket and exit the room.

xxxxx

**Skye29**: Thanks for reviewing, I hope you continue to like it.

**BeanieSGirl:** Thank you for the review! So glad you're loving it. Yes, news and rumour play a big part in this story.

**Cindy4806**: I'm so glad you find this well-written. Thanks for reviewing, there will be an update once a week unless I tell you guys otherwise.

**Experimental Madness**: This story is based on a 1500-word entry that I wrote for a competition over at the AA last year, but because I liked the idea so much, I decided to expand it. I'm so glad you like it, and don't worry, Quenilda will indeed take good care of Guy. Thank you so much for the review!

And thank you to everybody who clicked on the story and has read to this point. See you next week!


	3. Chapter 3

As always, constructive criticism is welcome! Any comments welcome!

xxxxx

The next time Guy woke, he was able to sit up long enough to eat a bowl of warm broth, and the time after that, he was able to manage most of a slice of bread with more broth. He awoke the next morning with something approaching an appetite. Except for his left arm, his aches and pains had disappeared, and his temperature felt normal, at least to him.

Eva was already awake, and Guy could see that both she and Quenilda had been sleeping on a large mattress on the floor next to his bed while he'd been sick. Rising from it fully dressed, Eva quietly refused to let him get up until he'd donned enough clothing to keep him from catching a chill, and brought him socks, a nightshirt, and his own trousers. When he was finally dressed to her satisfaction, she offered to support him to the privy, but Guy waved her away. "I can walk on my own."

"Yes, my lord," Eva replied. When Guy had finished, however, he found her hovering outside the door, and when he gave her a glare, she said, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't fall in, my lord. I would have had to wake my lady to help get you out, my lord, and she's so tired! She's nursed you herself these past few days."

Not certain how to respond, either to the ridiculous idea of falling into the privy or the thought of having to be rescued by two young women, Guy merely grunted in acknowledgment. Back in the room, he sank down on the bed, grateful that he hadn't had to walk any farther. His legs felt very wobbly, but at least he wasn't tired enough to fall asleep again immediately. His stomach growled, and Eva said quietly, "I'll bring you some breakfast, my lord."

"No more broth," Guy told her. "I want meat. Pork, if you've got any."

"Yes, my lord," Eva said. Glancing over at the sleeping Quenilda one last time, as though to make sure Guy hadn't woke her, Eva curtsied and went out. Guy wrestled himself into a more comfortable position, then leaned back against the headboard. He was just arranging the covers over his legs, and wondering if he could ask Eva to rub his feet later, when he heard the sound of a lute directly under one of the arrow slit windows. A moment later, two voices combined in song; a woman's and a man's.

"It was a day of clouds and thick fog, when Sir Guy went out a-hunting a hog."

Hearing his name, Guy sat up a little and listened harder. At first, he thought they might be singing about another Sir Guy, but eventually, it became clear that they were indeed celebrating his triumph over the dragon. It was all completely exaggerated, of course, with the dragon and himself nearly, but not quite, killing each other several times, so that the fight lasted almost a full day instead of less than an hour. Quenilda, the plain daughter of an Earl, had been turned into a princess who was not only beautiful, but also had the second sight, and the dragon had been given the power of speech! His words – taunts, really – were amazingly like the Sheriff's, and Guy didn't know whether to be amused or horrified.

The minstrel was just describing a ferocious battle both on the surface of the ocean and below its waters as well, which Guy would never have let himself get into, when the door to his chamber opened and Eva came in, bearing a tray of food. Her eyes went immediately to the mattress on the floor and she exclaimed, "Oh, my lady! I was hoping you'd sleep much longer!"

She all but dumped the tray onto Guy's lap and strode towards the window, looking out as well as she could. "I'll go down and tell Lady Isolda and Ivo that you want them to go do their singing somewhere else, my lady."

"No, let them stay, Eva. It's actually quite nice, being woken with a song," Quenilda said, sitting up. "Don't you agree, Sir Guy?"

Guy had just stuffed a slice of cold pork into his mouth, and was only able to give a noncomittal grunt. In addition to the meat, there was also bread, cheese, and a goblet of red wine; a breakfast he was looking forward to.

"You must be feeling better if your appetite has come back, Sir Guy," Quenilda went on, getting to her feet. "I hope you slept well?"

After swallowing, Guy answered, "I did, yes, Lady Quenilda."

Eva coughed in a slightly reproachful way, and Guy felt obliged to add, "How did you sleep, my lady?"

"I slept quite well." Quenilda came over to the side of the bed and laid her hand on Guy's forehead, then moved it around to the back of his neck. Her skin was warm and dry. "Your fever hasn't returned, that's good. Eva, bring me some breakfast, too, and after I've eaten, we'll look at his arm."

"Yes, my lady," Eva said, and went out again. Quenilda sat down on the stool by the fireplace and pulled on her shoes, then went out to the privy. When she was gone, Guy could clearly hear the words of the song from outside, and continued to listen. Sadly, he had missed all the action; the Guy in the song was now marching to the church, about to choose one of the princesses to be his bride. After a stanza in which they were both described as beautiful, noble, and graceful, however, the music ended abruptly.

Quenilda came back, stopping just inside the door to listen, and then sighed a little in the silence. "Oh, they've finished already. Were you hoping to hear more, too, Sir Guy?"

Guy shrugged, and Quenilda smiled, then went over to the small table that held a selection of pots, jars, and jugs. "Are you in any pain, Sir Guy?"

"No," he snapped, his mouth puckering uncomfortably at the thought of what might be in those containers. "I feel fine, and I don't need any more herbs."

"Hungry _and_ grouchy," Quenilda said. "You are definitely getting better, Sir Guy. Just a few more days of rest and you should be back to your old self again."

"Good," Guy grunted.

"I often think that's the worst part for a man," Quenilda went on, "no longer sick, but not well enough to get up and be active again. Do you play chess, Sir Guy?"

"I've played a few games, my lady," Guy admitted, but didn't mention that he was always obliged to lose, and even then, the Sheriff often didn't bother finishing a game. He usually ended a match by picking up the pieces and pelting them at Guy whenever he felt like it. "Why do you ask?"

"You'll need something to pass the time. The Earl has a chess set, I'll ask if we can borrow it. He might even want to play against you himself – he's quite good."

Guy was saved from having to answer by the door opening and Eva coming in with Quenilda's breakfast. She made room for it on the tiny table, then brought the stool over for her mistress to sit upon while she herself went back to the mattress to sit and nibble a chunk of bread.

"Do you like music, Sir Guy?" Quenilda asked. "Now that you are feeling better, I could ask Ivo to come and play for you on his lute. And my sister Isolda sings quite well, as you just heard."

"That was your sister?" Guy asked bluntly, and only belatedly remembered to add, "my lady."

"The Earl says she has the voice of an angel," Quenilda went on. "Of course, that song they were singing just now was quite silly. Whoever heard of a dragon that could talk? I'd ask them to sing something else. I don't suppose you want to listen to anything about Robin Hood, either, but perhaps Ivo can remember one of the old love songs. In fact, I think he's singing one right now."

She was right. The minstrel outside the window had begun to sing again, this time by himself, and Guy recognized a well-known romantic ballad. Having already grimaced at the mention of Hood, Guy now frowned even more at the thought of having to listen to love songs. It reminded him that the Earl had offered to let him choose which of his daughters he would marry, when the very thought of marriage or getting close to any female ever again made his stomach churn.

"No music," Guy snarled, pushing his tray away and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Both Eva and Quenilda stood up to help him, but he waved them away and staggered over to the window. Although he couldn't see the musicians from his vantage point, he could hear them even more clearly than in bed. Guy put his mouth to the arrow slit and shouted, "Shut _up_ down there or I'll come down and cut your fingers off!"

Behind him, Eva gasped, and Quenilda said, "Stop terrorizing our bard and get back to bed immediately, Sir Guy!"

But the music had already stopped, and a young man with a lute stepped out into Guy's range of vision. He looked quizzically up to the arrow slits, but was then joined by a young woman whom Guy recognized as Lady Isolda. Grabbing the man's hand, Lady Isolda dragged him hastily away out of sight, throwing quick, frightened glances up to where Guy stood glaring down at them. Only when they had completely disappeared did Guy turn around and stroll back, but his triumphant walk was ruined when his legs buckled just short of the bed and he fell to his knees.

"Eva, help," Quenilda commanded. They lifted Guy with an embarrassing lack of effort and settled him on the bed again.

"Sir Guy, if you do too much before you're ready, you will have a relapse, or take a chill," Quenilda told Guy sternly, drawing the covers up to his waist. "And that would mean us having to dose you again with more herbs."

She emphasized the words "more herbs" in a threatening way and gave him a stern look, which Guy ignored in the same way as he ignored the hate-filled stares of the peasants around Nottingham. Instead, he settled himself more comfortably by leaning back against the headboard and bit into his last chunk of bread while Quenilda sat down and resumed eating as well. When she'd finished, she stood up and came over to Guy, then took his arm.

"Let's check this now, Eva," she said. Guy watched as they rolled up the sleeve of his nightshirt and unwound the bandages, and stared in horror when his skin was revealed. While he'd been ill, his arm had turned green, a dark and sickly shade of green that even smelled bad.

"Oh, yes, that's looking much better," Quenilda said, taking up a wet cloth and rubbing his arm vigorously with it. To Guy's amazement and relief, the green disappeared to show healthy flesh underneath, and he realized the colour had come from a paste of crushed herbs.

"Did you think you were turning into a dragon yourself, Sir Guy?" Quenilda asked, and when he looked up, he saw amusement twinkling in her eyes. Not knowing how to answer, he remained silent and looked away.

"I think the danger has passed, but if you feel a sudden urge to try to fly or to breathe fire, you must tell me immediately," Quenilda went on. "And you, Eva, must tell me if Sir Guy wants to eat a maiden for his next meal, instead of pork or mutton."

"Yes, my lady," Eva replied eagerly, her eyes twinkling with amusement even though Sir Guy gave her his best withering look.

"Boil some spring water, Eva. I'll make a new poultice; the wounds haven't healed completely."

Eva went over to where there were two buckets on the floor near the fireplace, and made a sound of dismay. "I'll have to fetch more, my lady, these are empty."

"Then go and fetch some," Quenilda said mildly. Eva took the buckets and went out, and Quenilda sat down again at the table to work on the herbs. Guy took the opportunity to make his own examination of his arm; the skin around the puncture wounds from the dragon's teeth was still red and slightly swollen. He flexed it carefully, then moved his arm around in different positions before finally letting it rest, satisfied that nothing had been permanently damaged.

Eva returned eventually and boiled the water. Quenilda added a small amount to the herbs she'd crushed, then with Eva's help, she smeared the entire mass over Guy's arm and bound it up again with clean cloths.

"I think you'll heal quite well, Sir Guy," she said, tying the final knot with a cheerful flourish. Guy forced his lips into a small smile and murmured, "Thank you, my lady."

"Eva, bring me the comb," Quenilda said, then turned her attention back to Guy. "We'll comb out your hair before it gets any worse, and then I'll see about borrowing the Earl's chess set."

Guy suffered silently as she worked the comb through the tangles, not always gently. At last she was finished, but as soon as she handed the comb back to Eva, the maid said, "You can't appear before the Earl looking like that, my lady. I'll make you presentable first."

Quenilda sighed a little, but sat down on the stool, and Guy watched as Eva undid her mistress' plait of dark hair, raking through it with her fingers first before applying the comb. The simple scene brought back memories of his mother, sitting in front of the fire in her chamber while her maid worked on her hair. He remembered, too, that his mother had insisted on grooming Guy herself, at least before he'd been sent away as a page, and a feeling of sadness and regret stole into his heart. Pushing the feeling violently away again, Guy closed his eyes.

xxxxx

In the late afternoon, when both Quenilda and Eva were out, the Earl came up to visit Guy. He was preceded by a man servant carrying a large, high-backed chair, and another one carrying a table, but he himself held a chess board and a wooden box.

"Sir Guy," he said formally as the servants set everything up close to the fireplace. "My daughter tells me you play chess."

"I have played a few games, my lord," Guy said cautiously. The servants, brothers by the looks of them, pushed the room's stool into place across from the Earl, and Guy sat down at the man's invitation.

"Give me the pleasure of a battle, then, if you would," the Earl said. He laid the board on the table, removed the pieces from the box, and set them up with quick, expert movements. When he'd finished, only two pawns remained, one of each colour. He rolled them between the palms of his hands, then closed his fists over them without looking, and extended his arms towards Guy. "You may choose, Sir Guy."

Guy tipped the Earl's left hand, and the Earl opened it to show a black pawn. Guy was relieved; he was quite used to playing black against the Sheriff's white and would have found it strange for the positions to suddenly be reversed.

They played in silence for a time, and then the Earl remarked, "My daughter Quenilda says you're recovering well, Sir Guy."

"The maid said Lady Quenilda nursed me herself, my lord," Guy replied awkwardly. "She did well, and I am grateful."

The Earl nodded at the compliment. "She is very good with herbs. And my other daughter, Isolda, is very musical."

Guy made a polite sound as he moved his knight, remembering how Lady Isolda had thrown herself at her father's feet and begged him not to make her marry Guy, and how frightened she'd appeared when she'd dragged the minstrel away from Guy's window.

"From what I heard, you are not such a friend of music," the Earl went on. "It was reported to me that you threatened to cut her fingers off – and the fingers of my minstrel."

Guy glanced up guiltily, worried that his hasty words of the morning would have serious repercussions. He swallowed, and said, "Yes, my lord, I did. I –" he hesitated for a moment, then blurted out the truth. "—do not enjoy love songs."

"No, I suppose you would not," the Earl said, sliding a pawn forwards. "Still, I usually find that simply telling people what you want works best. Threats make them angry and resentful."

This was a foreign concept to Guy, especially as the Sheriff held exactly the opposite opinion. Still, he was a guest in the Earl's household, and the Earl's younger daughter had very probably saved his life with her herbs and her nursing. In the same way in which he agreed with Vasey, no matter what his own thoughts on the matter, because he knew his obligations to the man, Guy said, "Yes, my lord."

"Well," the Earl went on. "Despite this little incident, Quenilda claims that you are not a monster, that you came to us because you were in pain and lost. Lost, in more ways than one, she said, and I must admit, I tend to believe her judgements more easily than those of Isolda."

Guy frowned. He didn't remember telling Quenilda anything about why he'd come to Throxenby, and wondered how she'd managed to come up with ideas that were uncomfortably close to the truth. Watching him, the Earl lifted his eyebrows. "If you were looking for a wife, you could definitely do worse than Quenilda."

"I am not looking for a wife, my lord," Guy stated. "I did not come here seeking rewards."

The Earl nodded. "You said that once before, I remember, but I also know you were already quite ill with the dragonbite at the time. I wondered if you spoke true, or if you were already rambling."

"I spoke true, my lord," Guy said, looking him directly in the eye.

"Well," the Earl said again, then fell silent. Guy watched as he moved one of his chess pieces, and they resumed the game without speaking. Eventually, the Earl drove Guy's king into checkmate, and leaned back in his chair.

"We think the dragon must have come from across the sea," he said unexpectedly. "The father of my wife, who has the second sight, told us that it could be kept from ravishing the town if we sacrificed a maiden to it every so often. This was not good news to me, as I have only the two daughters and they are both maidens. But the father of my wife also said that a knight in black leather would be able to defeat the dragon. We had some terrible weeks, Sir Guy. To make it fair for everybody, I initiated a lottery, in which we chose one maiden each seven days. Some of the families in the town tried to sneak away before letting their daughters participate, especially after the first one was … sacrificed. I had to shut the gates and forbid every female to leave, maiden or no. Things became so dire that I made a vow before God that I would reward that knight with the hand of one of my daughters in marriage if he would only come quickly. The very next day, my own daughter Quenilda was chosen, and I wished that I had taken my family and snuck away myself. But I had made my oath, and I could not go back on it. I cannot go back on it now. I must offer my daughters to you again, Sir Guy."

Guy opened his mouth to speak, but the Earl held up a hand. "No, do not say anything. Consider it carefully before you decide. I will not expect – indeed, I will not listen to an answer from you until Quenilda has told me that you are recovered. We will not broach this subject again until then."

Guy looked down at his king, which had been driven into one corner. He hadn't tipped it over to signal the end of the game, and it remained standing, alone among white pieces.

"Yes, my lord," he replied dutifully.

"I will ask Quenilda if you are strong enough to leave your bed and join us downstairs for dinner to-morrow," the Earl said. He picked up the pieces, starting with Guy's king, and put them into the box. "We can get to know each other better. And of course, we can play again, but for now, I wish you a good night."

Taking the box and the board with him, he stood up and strolled away. Guy watched him go; thinking of the times when he would have gladly killed for the chance to become the son-in-law of an earl. Now, the prospect of increasing his standing and his power brought him no joy at all. He'd found out that other things in life were more important – but of course the knowledge had come too late.

Only a few moments after the Earl had exited the room, Eva came in with a tray, and Quenilda followed, seating herself in the high-backed chair that her father had just vacated while Eva set out the food and utensils.

"I had a little dream in the great hall this afternoon," Quenilda said conversationally as they ate. Guy didn't respond, and she went on. "I dreamed that you left Throxenby alone and robbers attacked you."

Having been chewing while she'd been talking, Guy hadn't heard exactly what she'd said, and tried to sound casual as he asked, "Robbers, or Robin Hood, my lady?"

"Robbers," Quenilda said. "But I think they wanted to take you to Robin Hood – at least, that was the impression I got in my dream."

"Take me to Hood?" Guy scoffed. "Why on earth would they want to take me to Hood?"

Quenilda bit her lip, looking away, then looked back at him. "I've heard rumours that Robin Hood will pay a bounty of fifty pounds to the man who brings you to him in Sherwood Forest."

Guy was astonished for a moment, then common sense asserted itself and he made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "What, so he can kill me? He's had plenty of chances already."

But even as he spoke, he found himself thinking that things had changed since they'd returned from the Holy Land. He'd scarcely had the energy or the inclination to do much of anything except visit Marian's old rooms, think about how much he hated himself for all that he'd done, and drink until he forgot everything. Hood would have had to come into the castle itself to kill him – Guy felt a cold shiver run down his spine as he realized that Hood could have done just that at any time in the last months, and he would not have been in a position to fight back, or even notice if Hood stuck a sword into his belly.

"It's only a rumour," Lady Quenilda said with a smile.

"You mean, it was only a dream," Guy grunted. From her place on the mattress, the serving girl Eva made a strangled sound that could have been a protest, and Guy gave her a sharp look. She ignored him, looking only at her mistress, but Quenilda must have given her a similar look because after a moment, she lowered her eyes contritely.

Changing the subject and glancing at Guy again, Quenilda said, "The weather is still good. To-morrow, we'll wrap you up well and let you take some fresh air in the courtyard."

xxxxx

**vivalarevolution**: Thanks for reading! Yes, poor Guy always ends up the worse for wear. So glad you liked the fantasy part.

**Experimental Madness**: There's nothing wrong in liking Isolda. She's meant to be a bit of a foil to common-sensical Quenilda. And yes, watch out, both for the dreams and for the bounty. Can't say more!

**Mirraterra**: Thanks for reading! Yes, the names are Anglo-Saxon, as far as I could tell. I did some research on names for this story, and chose those that were certified as having been used in the Middle Ages. There is a true "healing spring" near Scarborough, actually a mineral spring, which I've borrowed and moved slightly for my purposes. Thanks so much for your praise, and I hope you'll keep reading.

**BeanieSGirl**: Yeah, I hate that, too, when characters wake up and are just fine, no matter what's happened before. Or when they're beaten to a pulp, but still manage to get up and fight back a minute later. So … you want Guy to be sold out to Robin, huh? Well, I won't comment on that, but please keep reading!

I will be gone for about the first ten days in August, and will post part 4 on Friday, then part 5 when I get back. Thank you, everybody, who's read this far.


	4. Chapter 4

As always, constructive criticism is welcome! Any and all comments are welcome!

xxxxx

Because Sir Guy was doing so well, it was no longer seemly for Quenilda and her maid to sleep in the same room with him. Finding Humphrey and Godfrey, Quenilda ordered them to serve Sir Guy and to bring him whatever he asked for.

"M'lady," they mumbled, nodding, and went off. Quenilda went her way, as well, but in the night, as she lay awake next to Isolda, she couldn't help worrying about her patient. More than once, she wondered if he weren't going to try to sneak off in the night and make her dream come true.

But Sir Guy was still there the next morning when Quenilda knocked on the door to check, and she was surprised at how relieved she was to see him roll over in the bed and sit up.

"Don't get up yet, Sir Guy," she told him. "Humphrey, fetch him some breakfast. Godfrey, come with me. We're just going to look for some clothes for you to wear, Sir Guy."

The two servants shuffled reluctantly to the door, and Quenilda led Godfrey to her grandfather's chamber. Thurstan was already dressed except for his boots, which he was just tugging on as they entered. He looked up, squinting in her direction, and Quenilda said, "Good morning, Grandfather!"

"Quenilda," he said with a smile, standing up and reaching out for her embrace. She gave him a strong squeeze.

"I've hardly seen you since we sent you to the dragon," Thurstan said, not relinquishing her immediately. "How are you?"

"Nicely uneaten, but not for lack of trying on the dragon's part," she said. "And quite well otherwise, too. How are you?"

"Isolda says you've been tending another kind of dragon, a Sir Guy of Gisborne?" he asked, sidestepping the question of his own health. He let go of her at last and stepped back, looking down into her face with his weak eyes.

"He's not a dragon!" Quenilda exclaimed with a laugh. "But yes, I've been tending him. He was quite ill after that beast bit him. And that reminds me why I've come. I want to raid your chest for clothing. Sir Guy needs something fresh to wear."

"Clothing? That's a new excuse for visiting me. I must say, I like it much better than Isolda's excuse."

Quenilda grinned. "Oh? And what's her excuse?"

"First she asks if I've slept well, then she asks if I've had any dreams, and then she asks if I've seen anything of Robin Hood," Thurstan recounted. "Although yesterday she asked if I'd dreamed of her getting married."

"And have you?" Quenilda asked.

"I dreamed recently that she was surrounded by children – six, at least," Thurstan said. "She was quite put out when I couldn't name her husband, though, or tell her whether he carried a sword or a bow."

Quenilda took her grandfather's hand in both of hers. "I'm sorry about Isolda, grandfather. I think she's listened to Ivo sing too much about Robin Hood and has fallen in love with a man who exists only in songs."

"It's part of being young," her grandfather said with a tolerant smile. "I loved listening to songs, too, when I was her age. Oh, how I wanted to be a knight of the Round Table and have my own Queen Guinevere! But if Sir Guy truly does choose Isolda, she'll have to grow up very soon."

"Yes," Quenilda agreed. "However, Sir Guy's still recovering, and won't be in any condition to marry anybody for several days at least. And that brings me back to the question of clothes, Grandfather. You're about his size, and although I know how much you value the new things that my mother commissioned for you at Eastertime, I was wondering if you could spare them for the day?"

Thurstan threw back his head and laughed. "You're asking because you know exactly how much I hate them, you mean! All those twiddly laces! Yes, Quenilda, by all means, let Sir Guy wear them. If he looks halfway presentable, I'll even let him keep them."

"I'm sure it will be a huge sacrifice," Quenilda replied, laughing as well. She crossed the room to the chest and sorted out the carefully folded trousers, shirt, and overtunic, then laid them into Godfrey's arms, and topped it all off with an older fur-lined cloak. "Take these to Sir Guy, and help him get dressed if he needs it. But don't let him go out until I'm there."

Godfrey heaved one of his usual sighs and went off, and Quenilda took her grandfather's arm. "I'll take you down to breakfast, if I may?"

He patted her hand with his own. "You may indeed."

On their way down the stairs, Thurstan said, "You'll have a difficult life if you marry him, you know."

"I might have a difficult life if I don't," Quenilda replied. "Or even if I marry somebody else."

"True enough," Thurstan agreed, and then he sighed. "Your father, Alfward, told me once that he had a very difficult marriage with Isolda's mother."

"And then she died," Quenilda said.

"And he married your mother," Thurstan continued. "Well. Difficult times don't always last forever."

"I hope you're not thinking that any difficult times I might have will soon be over because I'll die young," Quenilda said, laughing.

"Actually, I was thinking of Sir Guy," Thurstan said, quite seriously, but then he smiled. "But here you are, not even married yet, and he might well choose Isolda."

Quenilda made quick work of her breakfast, then left the high table and skipped up the steps to see how Sir Guy was getting on. He'd already eaten and dressed, and was just pulling his boots on when she arrived.

"Ready to go out, Sir Guy?" Quenilda asked, and he straightened up. He looked so different than the first time she'd seen him; his new clothes fit well enough, despite being just a bit short in the arms and legs, and the dark blue suited his complexion perfectly. Quenilda smiled to see him looking so healthy, and even handsome, but he didn't smile back.

"My lady," he said dutifully, and strode towards her. She watched his legs for any trembling or weakness, and was gratified to see none. It was only when he had reached the door and extended his arm to her that she realized he wasn't wearing the cloak.

"Wait, we've forgotten something," she said, dashing over to the chest. The cloak was on top, still folded, and she lifted it up and shook it out in one motion. Sir Guy scowled, but let her place it over his shoulders.

Outside, Quenilda glanced around. "I asked Humphrey to bring out a bench for you to sit on – oh, there he comes now."

Humphrey manhandled the bench into the best position on the south side of the keep, where the sunlight would reach it most of the day, but Sir Guy resisted Quenilda's attempts to lead him there.

"One of the servants said he thought you had my horse in his stables," Sir Guy said. "Show me."

"Of course, Sir Guy," Quenilda replied, and they turned in that direction. A passing stable lad pointed out the black horse in one of the boxes, and Sir Guy took the lead, strolling energetically towards it. By the time she caught up with him, Quenilda didn't even have to ask if the horse belonged to him; he was running his hand down its neck and softly apologizing for not having any carrots.

"What's his name?" Quenilda asked, after craning her neck to see that it was a splendid stallion.

"Roland," Sir Guy said.

"A strong name for a strong horse."

Sir Guy made a noise of assent. From behind them, the stable lad asked, "Would my lord like to ride out on him? He needs some exercise."

"Later," Sir Guy said, just as Quenilda opened her mouth to say "No." She was relieved that she didn't have to forbid him, and watched as he gave the horse's nose a final caress, then turned away. From the stables, Sir Guy walked around the courtyard, staring out at the town and the landscape beyond.

"The healing spring is in that direction," Quenilda said, pointing south. "I wouldn't recommend that you go there to-day, though. It's more than a mile from here, and there's no point. Eva's been bringing spring water up for you all the time since you were ill, and you've made a wonderful recovery."

Sir Guy grunted again, then turned to the east, where the ocean was visible as a shimmering strip on the horizon.

"Have you ever been to the sea, Sir Guy?" Quenilda asked.

"Yes," Sir Guy snapped, in a tone of voice that indicated he did not care for the sea and did not want to talk about the experience. Quenilda said, "No, I wouldn't like being seasick, either. It must be much worse than being bounced along in a fast carriage on a bad road."

"You've never sailed?" Sir Guy asked, and Quenilda shook her head. "No. I've been to Scarborough twice, though, and I've seen the waves."

Without answering, Sir Guy reached up and slipped his cloak from his shoulders. Quenilda gave him a hard look. "Sir Guy, put that back on before you catch a chill!"

"It's much too hot," he grumbled, folding the cloak over his arm. "I'm sweating under all this fur!"

Frowning, Quenilda took off her own cloak and extended it to him. "Here. Mine is lighter, try it."

It was too short, of course, and just barely wide enough across Sir Guy's chest, but at least it was the right weight. Quenilda received the fur-lined cloak in return, but didn't put it on, because she wasn't ill, and Sir Guy was correct. It was much too warm for the mild day.

Sir Guy walked around the keep a second time, and Quenilda had to trot to keep up. Either he had regained his strength much faster than she had expected, or he was pushing himself too hard and would collapse soon. She drew up alongside and searched his face for signs of exhaustion, but he seemed to be doing all right so far, and smirked when he saw her looking at him.

When they came around to the south side of the keep again, Quenilda saw that Isolda and Ivo had seated themselves on opposite ends of the bench. There was a seemly distance between them, but they had turned to face each other, which made the distance appear less somehow. Ivo had his lute out, ready to play, but before he could pluck the first note, Quenilda caught his attention by calling out.

"Ivo, Isolda, will you not perform something for Sir Guy?" Turning to look up at him, Quenilda said, "Sir Guy, come, sit here and listen to my sister sing."

Isolda and Ivo jumped up from the bench as one and stared at Sir Guy in alarm. By the expressions on their faces, Quenilda thought, they obviously expected him to charge forward and cause them both grievous bodily harm, despite the fact that he was wearing neither sword nor dagger. Sir Guy scowled, his eyes flicking from one to the other and back again. Then, without speaking, he swept by them and strode to the steps that led back into the keep.

xxxxx

That night at dinner, however, Guy was forced to listen to Isolda sing while Ivo played. He suspected that Quenilda had had a hand in choosing the song; instead of any love ballad or gossipy new ditty, Isolda sang an abbreviated version of the Song of Roland. The two musicians had positioned themselves in front of the high table, barely as far apart as was appropriate, and Isolda kept her eyes on the Earl the entire time. Although Guy had to admit that she was quite a good singer, he could tell that there were feelings between her and the minstrel. It reminded him so much of Marian and Hood that Guy began to find Isolda's voice and even her beauty increasingly repulsive. Because there was no escape from the performance, however, he signalled the nearest servant for more wine, and by the time the song had finished, he was very close to being drunk.

Everybody clapped when the minstrel played his last note. Sensing the Earl's eye upon him, Guy brought his hands together a few times as well, then hastily stopped as soon as the Earl turned back to his daughter.

"Well sung, my daughter, " the Earl said, beaming happily. As an afterthought, he added, "Well played, Ivo."

"I haven't heard that one for ages," Quenilda's grandfather, Thurstan, said. He was supposed to be blind, but when Quenilda had introduced him to Guy, the older man had stared directly into his eyes.

"Not since it was new, eh, father?" Quenilda's mother teased, and Thurstan laughed. Guy covered his own smile by raising his cup to his lips. When he put it down again, he saw that Quenilda was watching him, looking worried, or perhaps disapproving. Did she think he was drinking too much? The thought made him irritable, and he reacted by demanding yet more wine.

"You have such a beautiful voice, Isolda," Quenilda's mother went on. "I could listen to you all night – but we should give others a turn. Will you sing a song for us, Ivo?"

"Gladly, if my lady will tell me what she'd like to hear?" Ivo replied.

"If you've finished it in the meantime, and if Sir Guy wouldn't mind, I would like to hear the song about him defeating the dragon of Throxenby and saving my daughters," Quenilda's mother said.

Ivo bowed, but said, "Certainly, my lady, but which ending would you prefer? I have written two of them."

"Two of them?" Quenilda's mother exclaimed.

"Yes, my lady, one where he marries Lady Quenilda, and one where he marries Lady Isolda." Was it just Sir Guy's imagination or did the young man's voice quaver a little when he spoke the second name? Lady Isolda certainly shot the bard an unhappy look, and his smile seemed forced as he continued, "Or perhaps Sir Guy can tell us which ending I should sing?"

They all turned to Guy, obviously wondering if he would announce his selection then and there. Having been caught in the middle of swallowing, Guy stopped, then deliberately made them wait while he drained his goblet yet again and slowly put it down. Scowling, he was just about to announce that he had no plans to marry anybody, ever, when Quenilda stood up suddenly.

"My lord, my lady, I must beg your forgiveness. Sir Guy has been hiding it well, but he is quite fatigued after this long day, and must return to bed or he will suffer a relapse. Humphrey – I mean, Godfrey, you're closer, help me take Sir Guy to his chamber."

"No forgiveness is necessary, my daughter," the Earl said, and Quenilda hurried around the back of the high table while Godfrey came at Guy from the side.

"I'm not _fatigued_," Guy announced with a sneer, scorning the very word as he got to his feet. He was, however, somewhat dizzy, and found that he had to hold onto the table for just a moment.

"No, my lord, you're drunk," Quenilda told him quietly. "And I won't allow you to stay here if I must be afraid the entire time that you will insult my sister or even Ivo."

Godfrey took Guy by the arm, and Guy tried to shrug him off. When Godfrey merely gripped him tighter, Guy balled his free hand to a fist and swung at him. Godfrey dodged with the ease of much practice, but Guy's fist connected anyway with the person who happened to be standing next to him – Quenilda. The force of the blow propelled her into the table and from there, she slumped bonelessly to the floor.

Guy froze, horrified, seeing Marian for a moment, and not Quenilda. He was aware of horrified cries, of movement, of the Countess jumping up and racing to her daughter's side, of the Earl getting out of his chair and coming towards him. The pleasant numbing effect of the wine had disappeared abruptly, and he was all too sober now, but he could not move or speak. Was she dead? Had he killed her, too?

Then Quenilda groaned and shifted on the floor, putting a hand to her face, and Guy exhaled in relief.

"Quenilda?" the Earl asked gently, and in a small, pained voice, Quenilda murmured, "Father?"

"Come, my girl, let's get you upstairs," the Countess said, motioning for Eva to come and help. Between them, they lifted Quenilda carefully to her feet, but then the Earl said, "Wait. Let her sit for a moment."

As they settled Quenilda into the nearest chair, the Earl turned his attention back to Guy. "Sir Guy. You've deliberately hurt a member of my family, you will receive double the same hurt in return. Godfrey, Humphrey, hold him."

Guy made no effort to escape the servants as they clasped his arms and held him tightly; he simply stood there, hating himself for his actions. Although he'd thought he was used to being humiliated, as he endured a steady stream of it from the Sheriff of Nottingham, he found that he hated the thought of being humiliated in front of Quenilda, and wished fervently that the Earl had let her go upstairs. Then the Earl hit him in the jaw, and if Humphrey and Godfrey had not been holding him, Guy would have gone sprawling to the floor. They checked his fall and pulled him upright again, and the Earl waited until he was more or less steady on his feet before raising his fist a second time.

It took longer for Guy to shake off the stars that danced around the edge of his vision, longer for his legs to stand firm again, but eventually, he managed. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he probed his teeth with his tongue; some were loose, but thankfully, none had been knocked out.

"Apologize to Quenilda now, Sir Guy," the Earl commanded. The servants let go of his arms and he corrected his balance, then finally dared glance over at Quenilda. She was watching him with one hand pressed against her cheek, and when he hesitated, she motioned for him to come closer. He took two steps in her direction, then stopped and opened his mouth. "I –"

Why was it so hard? He tried again, forcing his lips to form the right words. "I apologize, Lady Quenilda. I did not mean to hurt you."

She reached out one hand, and Guy forced himself to take another step forward before kneeling down, taking her hand in his, and kissing it briefly. He heard gasps of surprise or perhaps even outrage from various people in the hall, which made him wonder what he'd done wrong, but Quenilda said, "It's all right, Sir Guy, I know it was an accident."

His duty discharged, Guy let go of her hand, then got to his feet. He had vague thoughts of taking his leave and retreating to his chamber, but the Earl advanced on him, his arms opening wide. Expecting another kind of physical blow, Guy froze in surprise as the Earl hugged him, kissed him on each cheek, and said, "Punishment over, Sir Guy. You're forgiven, and it's forgotten now."

When he let go, Guy staggered, staring at him in astonishment. Forgiven? The concept was a foreign language to him, something he might have heard of, but certainly couldn't understand. If there was such a thing as forgiveness, then it was surely for other people, not for him. He could never be forgiven, not after all that he'd done, not as long as he was what he was.

"Come, Quenilda, let's get you upstairs where you can rest," the Countess said, helping her daughter to stand. The Earl gave Quenilda a quick kiss on the forehead, then ran his hand down her hair and said, "Good night, my daughter."

He turned away and called out, "Ivo! Play something to give Quenilda good dreams!"

Ivo plucked the tune of a lullaby that Guy recognized from his own childhood, and after a moment, Isolda began to quietly sing the words. Nearby, Eva yawned, then clapped her hand over her mouth, and giggled. "Don't worry, my lady, I won't fall asleep before you do."

Guy watched as Quenilda smiled back, wincing only a little at the bruised muscles in her face, then saw her glance from Eva to him.

"Sir Guy, come upstairs with me, and I will put some comfrey salve on your bruises," Quenilda said.

"My lady," Guy replied, and took the opportunity to follow them out of the hall. Up in the chamber where Quenilda was now sleeping, he remained just inside the open door, watching Eva fuss over her mistress. She insisted that Quenilda sit on the bed and refused to let her apply the salve herself, pulling the pot away from Quenilda's outstretched hand and giving her a threatening glare.

"I'm not dying, Eva," Quenilda scolded her, but there was a loving undertone to her words, and a smile in her eyes. "It doesn't even hurt all that much."

"Hmph," Eva replied, smearing the salve liberally over Quenilda's cheek. Quenilda leaned her head back a little, but as soon as Eva had finished, she quickly and carefully took the pot from her servant's hand in a movement worthy of any pickpocket.

"My lady!" Eva huffed, but it was Quenilda's turn to give her a threatening glare. Then she stood up and approached Guy, digging her fingers into the salve and extending her hand. He bent down so that she could reach his face more easily, and she worked the medicine into his bruised skin from his eye down to his jawbone. Her touch was as gentle as she could make it, and Guy closed his eyes and leaned into her hand, then realized what he was doing, and scolded himself. What was he thinking? He didn't want any more contact with women!

Without removing her fingers from his cheek, Quenilda stood up suddenly on tiptoe and kissed him on the forehead.

"You really are forgiven, Sir Guy," she said, and when he straightened up and looked down at her, she smiled.

xxxxx

**Rinter**: Thanks for reading, I hope you do continue! I agree that Guy is the most interesting character in the show.

**GizzysGirl**: Guy and Quenilda should get more alone-time? Well, keep reading, that's all I can say for now. ;-)

**Cindy4806**: I think that Guy's personal dragons will be a bit more difficult to slay, certainly more time-consuming. Thanks for reading so far, and keep reading to see if he manages!

**BeanieSGirl**: Thanks for your continuing support. Well, the Earl might possibly have come just to chat with Guy, but a game of chess can reveal a lot about your opponent. ;-)

Thank you, too, to everybody who's read this far, even if you haven't commented.


	5. Chapter 5

As always, constructive criticism is welcome! Any comments welcome!

xxxxx

The next morning, Guy was just getting dressed when Humphrey – or perhaps it was Godfrey, he couldn't tell them apart – came into his chamber and announced, "The Earl wants to see you downstairs, m'lord."

"'M coming," Guy replied thickly, and watched the man bow before leaving again. Guy sighed. He was just hung over enough to be miserable, and, he realized belatedly, too slow to ask the servant to see if Quenilda had anything to make the pain go away. Well, perhaps she'd be downstairs at breakfast, and he could ask her himself. He finished with his boots and stood up, then made his way down the stairs to the great hall.

But most of the tables had already been cleared away, and Quenilda was nowhere in sight. Guy was relieved that he wouldn't have to see the developing bruise on her face and know that he had caused it. Instead, the Earl was seated alone at the high table, with only a few servants attending him. There was also a man who was not dressed like a servant, holding a cloth wrapped bundle in both hands as carefully as though it were an infant.

"Good morning, Sir Guy," the Earl said, with no hint of reproach in his voice despite the late hour.

"Good morning, my lord," Guy replied, bowing his head.

"You lost your sword in my service," the Earl said. "My daughter told me how the dragon's blood ate through the blade like rust."

"Yes, my lord," Guy agreed. At the mention of swords, he looked over to the bundle that the man held, and judged it to be the right size and shape. He was not disappointed. The Earl gave the man a nod, and the man unfolded the cloth to reveal a new sword, much finer than his old one, and yet not too decorative to be used.

"I've commissioned you a new one," the Earl said, "as a token of my thanks. Take it with my gratitude."

Guy took the sword and swung it experimentally. It was perfectly balanced and beautiful, a work of art and an effective weapon both at the same time, and he couldn't keep a certain amount of admiration and excitement out of his voice. "My lord!"

Then he remembered that he wasn't going to be marrying either of the Earl's daughters, not that Quenilda would ever want to marry him now that he'd hit her, and all the joy drained out of him. Lowering the sword, Guy approached the high table. "I'm sorry, my lord, I cannot accept this."

"Perhaps I did not express myself well," the Earl said. "I meant to say that this is a token of my thanks for saving all the maids in Throxenby. It has nothing to do with Isolda or Quenilda, Sir Guy, nothing at all."

Guy hesitated, searching the Earl's face for any sign of anything that might imply the opposite, but when he found nothing of the sort, he felt his delight in the weapon return. "My lord, thank you! Thank you!"

He turned to the man, feeling a smile work its way across his face for the first time in months. "It's very fine – almost fit for a king."

The man smiled back in pleasure at the praise. "Thank you, Sir Guy."

"A knight must have a sword," the Earl said. "Dragons are not the only threats."

Guy swung the sword again, then lunged with it in the direction of the door, just as Quenilda stepped through it into the great hall. She stopped in mock alarm, and Guy lowered the sword immediately. "My lady!"

Quenilda curtsied in her father's direction. "My lord." Then she turned back to Guy, and acknowledged him with a smile. "Sir Guy."

Embarrassed by the way she smiled despite the pain that the bruise on her face must cause, Guy bent his head to stuff the sword into the scabbard at his waist, and only belatedly realized he wasn't wearing his sword belt.

"And here's a threat right here," the Earl said. "My own daughter, come to relieve me of my money as though she were Robin Hood himself."

Guy bit down a grimace at the name, but Quenilda merely sounded innocent as she asked, "My lord?"

"It is market day, isn't it?" the Earl demanded. "And no doubt you've run low on some herb or other."

"I was hoping to convince Sir Guy to accompany me to the market, my lord," Quenilda replied, "because a short walk would do him good, not because I have a pressing need for herbs."

"No pressing need? Really?" The Earl leaned back in his chair, looking astounded. "Well, that's a first."

"But in case of an emergency, my lord, I could use some more comfrey," Quenilda said. "And mallow. Perhaps some angelica."

The Earl gave a mock groan, then stood up. "I was just about to pay William for the sword. I suppose it won't hurt too much if I should take an extra coin from my pouch. Just in case of an emergency, mind you."

Quenilda smiled with her eyes, though not her lips, and Guy realized that it was a well-worn routine, a game that they played with each other.

The Earl came around the table and counted out several coins to the third man in the hall. To judge by William's reaction, it was a very generous amount, because he couldn't hide his grin even as he bowed and left. When the man had gone, the Earl then pinched two more coins between his thumb and forefinger and held them out in Quenilda's direction. "You're making a poor man of me, my daughter."

"But we must be prepared for anything, my lord," Quenilda replied, transferring the coins to her own pouch with a smile.

"I'd be a poor Earl indeed if I didn't know that," the Earl said. They grinned at each other at last, and the Earl bent forward to kiss Quenilda on the forehead. "Sir Guy, make sure that my daughter buys something nice for herself as well."

"Yes, my lord," Guy replied, groaning inwardly. He had no desire to accompany any woman to any marketplace, especially not to look for herbs, but as mild as the Earl's sentence had been, it was still a command.

Guy, Quenilda, and Eva had barely reached the marketplace, however, when there was an excited cry from behind them. "Lady Quenilda! Sir Guy!"

Guy turned to see a baker's apprentice, holding out two of the pies displayed on a little tray that he wore in front of him, held by a leather strap around his neck. "Sir Guy! You saved my little sister!"

Guy hesitated, wondering if he'd heard correctly. In Nottingham, he was more likely to be accused of killing people, not saving them, and then he remembered the dragon. The teenaged boy extended the pies more fervently. "It's all I can give you, Sir Guy, it's all I've got. But please, take them, as a thank you from my family and me."

"We really couldn't –" Quenilda started to say, but Guy, hungry, leaned forward and took both pies. He bit into one, and the boy beamed at him. "We're so grateful you slew the dragon, Sir Guy! Bless you! Bless you!"

"How old is your sister?" Quenilda asked.

"Just turned twelve, my lady, and as beautiful as Lady Isolda," the boy replied in all seriousness. "May I offer you a pie as well, my lady?"

"Thank you." Quenilda accepted one, took a bite, and smiled. "This is delicious."

She gave Guy a significant look, and though it took Guy a moment to realize what she expected, he finally grunted in agreement. "Mm, good."

"Thank you, my lord, my lady! I baked these myself!" He bowed awkwardly while trying to hold the tray steady, then turned to the nearest bystanders and began trying to sell them with a song he'd obviously made up on the spot. "If from me you buy a pie, you will like it like Sir Guy!"

Catching Guy's scowl, Quenilda and Eva both grinned in obvious delight. "It's easy to make a rhyme for Sir Guy," Quenilda told him.

_It rhymes with 'die'_, Guy thought morosely.

"Ivo said once that the only thing that rhymes with Quenilda is Hilda, my lady," Eva added. "But he has a worse time finding a rhyme for Lady Isolda."

Quenilda smiled even more. Guy didn't have time to answer, though, because someone else was tugging at his sleeve to get his attention, and from then on, he was positively showered with other gifts, coins, and verbal thank yous. Even the herb merchant refused Quenilda's offer of payment by saying that she'd obviously used up a great deal of her supplies on the knight in black leather, and he was willing to replace them at no charge. By the time they were ready made their way back to the castle, with Eva behind them, groaning under the weight of the presents, Guy was starting to enjoy himself. It occurred to him that Hood might feel this same pleasure, with everybody fawning over him in gratitude. Maybe that was why he did it. It was certainly better than having people running in fear, barely tolerating his presence, and making signs against evil behind his back or whenever they thought he wasn't looking.

It wasn't until they were eating dinner that he remembered his assignment, to make sure that Quenilda bought something nice for herself. He spent the rest of the meal waiting for the Earl to accuse him of shirking his duty and humiliate him in front of everybody, especially when Quenilda briefly mentioned the herbs. But the conversation moved briskly from Guy's gifts to the families who had suffered the loss of a daughter or a sister, to the question of where the dragon had come from in the first place, and from there to foreign lands in general, the Holy Land in particular, and, inevitably, the crusade. The Earl never once referred to Guy's lapse, and Guy went to bed feeling both relieved and, strangely, a little guilty.

The next day was Sunday, and Guy could not refuse the Earl's invitation to attend church with them. During the service, he stood at the man's side, feeling awkward and unworthy. He hadn't been in a chapel since the time he'd almost married Lady Marian, but the memory of how she'd left him standing at the altar was less overwhelming than he'd expected. Guy felt worse when he thought of her death, and found himself wishing that somehow, some day, he could be forgiven for that. He imagined Marian as an angel, possessing pure white wings that allowed her to fly and hover in front of him so that she could lean forward, kiss him on the cheek and say, as Quenilda had said, "You really are forgiven."

She'd fly away again, of course, back up to her place in heaven, but Guy thought that the relief that her words would bring would vanquish all the pains of hell forever. It was only later, when they were walking back to the keep, that Guy remembered that he could never be forgiven, and that Marian would never say those words to him, whether in this life or the next.

xxxxx

After a lunch during which Quenilda noticed Sir Guy getting restless and casting longing looks at the wine, Quenilda decided that a long walk in the the fresh air would be just what he needed. Doing good on the Sabbath was expressly permitted in the Bible, and so she'd got into the habit of taking her grandfather to the healing springs each week, to bathe his eyes in the cold water and help him retain his ability to distinguish between light and dark. During a lull in the conversation, she invited Sir Guy to accompany them. He nodded, not having said much throughout the meal, and stood up silently up from the table when they did.

"I dreamed of Sir Guy this morning," Thurstan said as they strolled, arm in arm, along the road.

"Did it involve Robin Hood?" Quenilda asked, glancing up to where Sir Guy was striding quickly ahead of them.

"No," Thurstan replied. "What was the name of that guard, the one whose daughter was the first to be chosen --?"

"Osbert," Quenilda said quickly, before her grandfather could finish the question.

"Yes, Osbert. I dreamed he attacked Sir Guy."

Quenilda frowned, thinking of all her hard work in nursing Sir Guy back to health after the dragon had bitten him. "Did he kill him?"

"He wanted to," Thurstan mused. "And Sir Guy was angry, but mostly at himself, I think, because part of him still wanted to die, and yet the part of him that wanted to stay alive was getting stronger. But no, I didn't see the end."

"I hope Sir Guy doesn't kill him," Quenilda said. "He's lost a daughter, true, but he's still got his son, and a hope for grandchildren one day."

"Grandchildren are the light of my life," Thurstan said, giving her a smile. "Everybody should have some."

Quenilda lifted her grandfather's hand to her face so that he could feel her own grin. "Even me?"

"Especially you."

"It's hard for me to think about grandchildren when I'm not even married yet," Quenilda said.

"I never thought of babies when I was your age, either," Thurstan said. "Not even when I was playing dragon and maiden with a – well, never mind about that."

Feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment, Quenilda was glad for once that her grandfather could not see, and quickly changed the subject. "I don't think Sir Guy will have grandchildren. I dreamed about him the other day, too. He left Throxenby alone, and was attacked by men who wanted to take him to Robin Hood."

"For the fifty pound reward?" Thurstan asked, and Quenilda made a noise of assent. "Even though they'd be rich enough if they had just robbed him and left him. You should have seen what happened in the marketplace yesterday, grandfather! It seemed that everybody had something to give him in thanks for killing the dragon."

"Perhaps not everybody," Thurstan corrected her, then said suddenly, "Listen!"

Quenilda looked instead. A few paces up the road, Sir Guy was standing warily in front of the very Osbert they had been speaking about, his hand on the hilt of his sword as Osbert bellowed up into his face.

"Why didn't you come earlier, huh? Why didn't you save _my_ daughter?" Osbert was demanding as Quenilda and Thurstan approached.

"Osbert!" Quenilda called out, and both men turned to look at her. Letting go of her grandfather, Quenilda ran ahead to place her hand on the man's arm. "Osbert –"

Now that she was closer, she could smell the drink on him and recognize, even before he shrugged her hand off, that Osbert was in no mood to be comforted.

"And why are _you _still alive?" Osbert shouted at her. "Why not my Matilda? She was only fourteen!"

"I don't know, Osbert," Quenilda said, genuinely puzzled. "I don't know."

"That lottery was fixed, that's why!" Osbert raged. "The Earl never had any intention of sacrificing his daughters, no, not when he could send ours to the dragon instead!"

"That's not true!" Quenilda protested. She and Isolda had taken their chances in the lottery like anybody else – in fact, they'd always had to be first to reach into the bag to draw one of the wooden markers, and she'd recognized, each time, the fear that her father had tried to hide as they'd done so. Seeing that Osbert was close to tears now, she extended her arms, intending to hug him, but he put out both hands and shoved her violently away. Sir Guy reached for his sword again, and Quenilda cried out, "No!"

Sir Guy looked surprised, but stopped, and Quenilda explained, "He doesn't mean me harm, he is only grieving."

Sir Guy gave Osbert a hard glare, then removed his hand from the hilt of his sword. From behind her, Thurstan said, "Have a care, my granddaughter. Men who are grieving are the most dangerous, because they do not care if they die – in fact, they welcome death."

"I should have died instead of Mathilda," Osbert sobbed. "The Earl should have let me go to the dragon in her place!"

"But you were not a maid!" Quenilda protested, carefully laying one hand on his shoulder.

"How would the dragon have known?" Osbert's anger cut through his sobs. "I cannot tell the difference between a ewe and a ram when the meat is in my stewpot! How would a dragon tell the difference between a maid and a man?"

Sir Guy smirked at this logic, and from behind them, Quenilda heard Thurstan say simply, "It had to be a maid, or the knight in black leather would not have come."

With a wordless cry of rage, Osbert lunged at him and swung his fist. The blow caught Thurstan directly in the face and dropped him to the ground. At first, Quenilda was too shocked to scream; all she could do was watch, unable to move or even speak, as Sir Guy grabbed Osbert from behind and prevented him from throwing himself onto the older man. Twisting the man's arm behind his back, Sir Guy spun him around, then propelled him up the path in the direction of the spring. As soon as they were out of the way, Quenilda flung herself down at Thurstan's side. "Grandfather?"

Blood gushed from Thurstan's nose, flowing down across his mouth and right cheek. Moaning and hissing with pain, he felt cautiously around his face, but when Quenilda reached out to do the same, he bit back any sound and only winced.

"I don't think it's broken," Quenilda finally decided.

"Then help me stand before Sir Guy kills him." Thurstan reached out and caught hold of her arm. For a change, he led her, going so well in the right direction that she only had to correct him twice. They arrived just as Osbert staggered unter Sir Guy's blows and fell into the healing spring. Calling for them to stop, Quenilda let go of her grandfather and ran over to pull the man out of the water before he drowned. He shrugged her off, then crawled out on the other side and remained crouched there, spluttering and gasping.

"You're soaked," Quenilda told him. "After you've apologized to my grandfather, you must go home and get dry or you will catch lung fever."

With a roar, Osbert heaved himself up again and spat in her direction. "Apologize? To the man who said that the dragon would only eat maidens? To the man who said that a knight in black leather would be able to defeat the dragon, but couldn't tell us when? It's his fault that my Mathilda's dead – I won't apologize to him, I'll kill him!"

He rushed at Thurstan again, and Quenilda flung herself protectively in front of her grandfather. Just as he reached her, Osbert stopped in mid-motion, then glanced down in sheer astonishment. Quenilda followed his gaze, and gasped. The blade of a sword was sticking through his jacket, and Quenilda felt a cold shiver as she realized that the sword had come from behind her, through the space between her body and her arm. Osbert staggered backwards and dropped a dagger from his hand that Quenilda hadn't even seen him draw. Coming out of the wound, the tip of the sword was revealed, with less than a finger's breadth of blood at the end, and then the entire blade disappeared back the way it had come. As Osbert fingered the tiny wound, still looking surprised, Quenilda felt a hand grip her shoulder and whirl her around.

"Woman!" Sir Guy shouted at her. He'd sheathed his sword, now he clapped his hands on both of her shoulders and started to shake her violently. "You never get in the way of a man with a sword, you stupid, stupid woman! I could have killed you, Marian, I could have run this right through you –"

Suddenly, Sir Guy pulled her close and planted his mouth on hers, kissing her as violently as he had been shaking her a moment ago. Caught unawares, Quenilda was unable to react at first, but then she tried to free herself with a shove. Sir Guy had already lifted both hands to her head, however, and hung on, his kisses becoming even more urgent. Through them, he murmured, "Marian, no, don't push me away, please –"

He began to stroke her hair, but when his fingers found the beginning of her plait, he stopped. His kisses stopped, too, and he raised his head to look down at her in bewilderment.

"I—I'm not Marian," Quenilda said. It was strange how shaky her voice sounded in her own ears. Sir Guy blinked several times, then let go of her head, his expression so miserable that she automatically added, "I'm sorry."

Sir Guy backed away without speaking, then turned suddenly and all but ran back towards the keep. Quenilda watched him go, her heart thudding in her chest and her mouth throbbing. Eventually, however, splashing sounds caught her attention, and she glanced over to the healing spring. Osbert had retreated to one side of it and was holding up his tunic with one hand while he used the other to cup water and dash it over his wound. On the other side, her grandfather had stuck his entire face into the spring, and as she watched, he lifted it up and let the water run off. There was no blood left on his mouth or chin, and none coming out of his nose, either.

With a rush, Quenilda's powers of both thought and speech returned. "Oh, Grandfather, I'm sorry, I should have helped you!"

"I thought you might be a bit busy," Thurstan replied. "And I'm not so helpless that I can't find the water that's right in front of me."

He sounded almost merry, despite his nose. On the other side of the spring, Osbert got to his feet, and Quenilda reached out. "Osbert, let me stitch that up for you. I'll get you some salve and bandages."

"I don't want your help," Osbert growled, pulling his tunic down. "It's just a scratch, and if there's any stitching to be done, Albreda can do it!"

He stomped away down the south path, in the opposite direction from Throxenby, Albreda's house, and everything else, and leaving Quenilda feeling curiously hurt by his rejection. At her side, Thurstan straightened up and groped for her arm. She took it automatically, and they walked in silence.

No longer distracted, Quenilda found her thoughts returning to the feeling of Sir Guy's lips on hers. Her first kiss, she thought, and felt both sad and angry that it had been such a disappointment. According to both Isolda and her mother, and all the love songs that Ivo had ever sung, kisses were supposed to be very pleasant and make you want more. Instead, she'd had her lips mashed against her teeth like herbs inside a mortar while Sir Guy's hands had held her head so tightly she couldn't pull away. Tears stung her eyes and she suddenly wished she'd had the presence of mind to slap him. Then she remembered how wretched he'd looked when he'd discovered she wasn't Marian, and her anger turned to pain, for him and a little for herself.

Obviously sensing her distress, her grandfather patted her arm and said, "You can't heal everything, Quenilda, no matter how much you might want to."

"I know!" she exclaimed, the words coming out as a sob, and then she flung her arms around her grandfather and buried her face in his tunic. Thurstan held her tightly, made soothing noises, stroked her hair and her back, and finally asked, "Why are you crying, Quenilda?"

"I don't know," she wailed.

"I think you might be crying because you wanted Sir Guy to kiss you," he said. Quenilda raised her face to look up at him, ready to protest, but he went on. "Not the memory of his Lady Marian, but _you_, Quenilda, the girl he saved from the dragon, the daughter of Earl Alfward."

All the way home, Quenilda considered the theory, eventually coming to the conclusion that her grandfather might just be right. She remained silent, however, not yet willing to admit it out loud.

xxxxx

**GizzysGirl:** So, you want more of Guy and Quenilda getting a little too close? Well, I think you got your wish in this chapter. Thanks for reading!

**Rinter**: So glad you're still reading. Yes, that's the question, isn't it, how long Guy will stick to his resolve about no women and not marrying. Hope you enjoy the rest of the story.

**Historianic**: Welcome, and thank you for that great compliment! I'm trying to make Quenilda be exactly what Guy needs, but I won't know if I've succeeded until the end. Please keep reading so you can tell me.

**Cindy4806**: No, Guy doesn't love himself, at least not now, but does that mean he can't have a happy ending anyway? Keep reading to find out, and thanks for reviewing!

And thank you to everybody who's read so far!


	6. Chapter 6

As always, constructive criticism is welcome! Any comments welcome!

xxxxx

Striding into the stables, Guy called loudly for his horse to be saddled. One of the youngest stable boys popped up out of an empty box where he'd been napping, and fumbled with the tack as Guy glared impatiently at him. At last the horse was ready, and Guy rode out, not really caring where he went. He was just glad to get away, to let the pain in his heart subside, to be on his own for a while and not have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing around Quenilda.

Quenilda! For one incredible moment, he'd been back in that village in the Holy Land and none of it had ever happened. His sword had missed, and his beloved hadn't been killed, only surprised. And he'd sheathed his weapon and had kissed her – and it hadn't been Marian at all. It had been Quenilda.

But the kiss had been sweet, sweeter than any kiss of Marian's, he realized. Or was the comparison unfair because the memory of Marian's kisses was now irrevocably tainted with the memory of her betrayal and the revelation of her lies to him? Quenilda had been surprised, and obviously innocent in the art of kissing, and Guy found himself hoping that those were the only reasons she'd tried to shake him off. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it if she found him revolting, or wanted to distract him, or because she was in love with someone else. Then he wondered what it would be like if he kissed her again. Would she enjoy it? Would she be willing to kiss him back, _him_, Sir Guy of Gisborne, who was notorious throughout England because he was the enemy of Robin Hood and had killed the woman they both had loved?

No. Ridiculous. He shouldn't even be dreaming of it. Thinking of Marian reminded Guy of what he was capable of doing, and he felt a shiver run through him. He'd already hurt Quenilda once by accident, and if he had not killed her just now, then it was nothing short of a miracle that had kept his sword from going right through her. She'd been stupid to get between two men who were fighting, but at least she'd only been trying to protect her grandfather. She hadn't been spouting words that included love for another man and making him desperate to stop those words. No. He didn't want to think about that – he never wanted to remember Marian's confession or her declaration of her feelings for Robin Hood again.

Turning his thoughts back to Quenilda, which was surprisingly easy, Guy determined that he was not going to love her, or Isolda, or anybody else. He certainly wasn't going to give himself the chance to hurt her again, or, he hastily added to himself, any other member of her family. It was bad enough having Hood after his blood, he didn't want the Earl chasing him down as well. Anyway, he already had so much guilt on his shoulders that he felt as though he were staggering under its weight; even the slightest hurt to Quenilda would be enough to crush him. Knowing that he could not take even the least little bit more, Guy decided he had better leave, quickly, before anything else happened, accident or no.

Without noticing, Guy had come to the place where the dragon had been killed. Its corpse hulked there still, stinking and blackened with fire and decay. No one had been able to move it, though to judge from the remains of daggers, knives, axes, and even a sword on the ground nearby, more than one person had tried to cut it up. Ignoring the way his horse danced uneasily beneath him, eager to be away from the stench, Guy walked him around the dragon to its head and sat there, staring down at it.

He'd killed it. He, Guy of Gisborne, had slain the dragon that nobody else had been able to vanquish, and not only that, he'd done it alone, with no help from anybody else. Here was the proof that, no matter what the Sheriff of Nottingham said, he was _not_ incompetent. Now, at long last, he was a force to be reckoned with, the hero of songs, no longer the idiot and laughingstock of Sherwood Forest. And speaking of Sherwood, there was a dragon there that needed to be slain, too, a dragon without wings, by the name of Hood. Suddenly, Guy felt as though hunting him down and killing him would be as easy as snapping his fingers, and he smirked to himself.

Guy's horse snorted uneasily, interrupting Guy's fantasy, and he gave the dragon one last look before turning his horse and letting it walk back the way they'd come. He'd ask Thurstan about Hood before he left; the man had prophesied that he'd be able to kill the dragon, after all, maybe he could prophesy the same about Guy slaying Hood. Maybe "sacrificing" a maiden in the forest would attract Hood's attention and bring him out where Guy could kill him. Guy smirked again. Hood would definitely want to save an innocent maiden from the evil Guy of Gisborne.

Thinking of maidens as a lure, Guy remembered what they'd said about the dragon. Did it really only eat maidens, as Thurstan had implied? Or had there been another reason why only maidens could be sacrified to it? He recalled hearing Quenilda's scream and thinking it was Marian – he knew he wouldn't have reacted if he'd heard a man shouting. He'd have ignored it and kept riding, not expecting an attack from the air, and the dragon would have flamed him and his horse to death before he'd even known of its existence. Just imagining it made Guy break out into a cold sweat.

Surprised by his own reaction, Guy wondered when he had changed from welcoming death to enjoying life again. There had been a time, only a few weeks ago, when the idea of being killed, even by a dragon, wouldn't have bothered him at all. But when he returned to Throxenby and saw Quenilda, standing on the steps of the keep, he knew. And she was smiling as though she'd missed him and had been watching eagerly for his return.

Guy's first reaction was to return her broad smile, but then the memory of his sword slicing much too close to her clothing came to mind, and he looked away.

"Sir Guy, you came back," Quenilda said as Guy dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy. "I was worried that you might have set out for Nottingham already and been set upon by those robbers."

"What robbers?" Guy asked.

"The ones in my dream," she said. "The ones who wanted to take you to Robin Hood for the bounty."

"That was only a dream," Guy told her roughly, even though he was certain there was an entire kingdom of men outside of Throxenby who would do exactly that, and for less money as well.

Giving him another soft smile, which made Guy clench his fists against the temptation of grabbing and kissing her again, Quenilda said, "Come inside and warm up now, Sir Guy, it will be time to eat soon."

Although there was actually more than enough time before the evening meal, Guy did not have the opportunity to talk to the Earl that he'd hoped would arise. And even after the food was served, the topics of conversation did not at first allow him to raise the subject that weighed heavily in his thoughts. Although he was seated between the Earl himself and Thurstan, Guy scarcely got a chance to speak, as the older man was busy relating, with Quenilda's help, their versions of what had happened at the healing spring. At last, however, the Earl turned his attention to Guy and remarked, "You must be feeling very much recovered, Sir Guy, if you can walk and fight and ride on the same day."

"It was scarcely a fight," Guy snorted, "but yes, my lord, I am recovered."

"What do you say, my daughter?" the Earl asked, glancing over at Quenilda.

"Physically, my lord, he is quite recovered," Quenilda replied. She was at the far end of the high table; Guy saw her lean forward and beam happily at him.

"Well," the Earl said, looking at his daughter and then at Guy, his eyes twinkling. Too late, Guy remembered the Earl's injunction about when they would discuss marriage again, and groaned inwardly. He looked away, and caught sight of Isolda's frightened face peeping around her mother's shoulder, her obvious dread making Guy want to roll his eyes. She couldn't seriously be worried that he would choose her, could she? No, he wasn't going to be taken in by a pretty face again. Quenilda might not be as beautiful, but at least she could stand being in his presence, and talk normally with him and even send genuine smiles in his direction. Nor had he seen any signs yet that her heart yearned for somebody else; in fact, her gentle way and all of her smiles made it seem as though she actually liked him. Even the Sheriff would have to concede that she was much less of a leper than any other woman he'd ever met. She'd make him a good wife – if he wanted a wife. Which, he reminded himself very sternly, he did not.

"I'm definitely recovered enough to go back to Nottingham," Guy announced more gruffly than he'd intended. "And with your permission, my lord, I'll say my good-byes this evening and leave early in the morning."

"Before I give my permission, Sir Guy, I must ask you one last time if you have considered my offer carefully," the Earl said.

"I have, my lord," Guy replied. He didn't look at Quenilda. Certain that he'd cause her harm sooner or later, and knowing that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did, Guy strengthened his resolve. "I cannot accept."

He hesitated, then heard himself say, "My lord, you – and your family – have saved my life. That's more than enough reward for killing the dragon."

"And you've spared my life by keeping my daughters alive," the Earl said. "I suppose that means we're even."

He turned slightly in his seat and extended his hand, and after a moment of surprise, Guy took it. They shook solemnly.

"Right, then," the Earl said, and went back to eating. Guy heard Isolda sigh in relief, but didn't look in her direction. Nor did he want to see Quenilda's expression, as he was sure it would be hurt, disappointed, and perhaps even reproachful as well.

"My lord, you must send a guard with him," Quenilda said suddenly, and everybody at the table turned to look at her. "Two would be better."

"I don't need a guard," Guy objected, but the Earl held up one hand to cut him off. "Is this just a precaution because of the rumour, my daughter?"

"I dreamed that Sir Guy left Throxenby alone and was attacked by robbers," Quenilda said, and Guy recalled her saying the same thing to him earlier. "They wanted to take him to Robin Hood for the reward."

"Did they succeed?" the Earl asked, and Quenilda frowned. "My dream ended there, my lord. I cannot say."

The Earl frowned as well. "Two guards, then." He motioned to his steward, who came up behind him so that the Earl could give him the appropriate instructions.

"You're sending two guards with me because of a dream, my lord?" Guy asked as the steward bowed and went to do the Earl's bidding.

"It's not just any dream, Sir Guy!"

At first, Guy didn't recognize the voice, and glanced down the table to see who had spoken. To his great surprise, it was Isolda, who had swiftly overcome her fear of him now that she was certain to remain safely in her father's household, and was even daring to glare in his direction. Guy raised his eyebrows as Isolda went on, "She's got the second sight, just like Grandfather Thurstan! She was the one who saw the dragon coming, and if she says you're going to be attacked by robbers, Sir Guy, then you will be, and you should be grateful for the warning!"

From the firmness in the tone of her voice, Guy half expected her to reveal that she was glad that it was going to happen, and maybe even add that Guy deserved to be trussed up and delivered to Hood despite having slain the dragon and saved her life. But Isolda's courage ended there, her face turned red, and she ducked away again out of sight, even before her mother could hiss her name in rebuke.

"Izzy!" Quenilda exclaimed with an exaggeratedly quiet voice that Guy could hear nonetheless. "I didn't want him to know about the second sight!"

"Why not?" Isolda replied in the same tone. "Everybody else does!"

Quenilda might have said more, but the Earl broke in. "Well. Yes. After a little trial and error when they first started, we've all learned to pay attention to Quenilda's dreams since then."

"Really," Guy said, intrigued. "What else have you dreamed, Lady Quenilda?"

"Nothing about Robin Hood," Quenilda replied rapidly.

"Then how did you know that was what I was going to ask, my lady?" Guy shot back, and Quenilda said, "I didn't, but at the moment, there are only two things that everybody wants to know, and since you've already told us you won't be marrying ..."

She let her voice trail off because the conclusion was logical, and smiled a little. By this time, the atmosphere around the table was positively jovial, and Guy found himself smiling back as well. Before he could stop himself, he'd asked, "Did you already dream about that too, then?"

Quenilda shook her head. "No, Sir Guy. The only dream I've had about you is the one I told you about, with the robbers. But perhaps my grandfather … ?"

Everybody at the table turned their heads to look beyond Guy to Thurstan, and Guy twisted around to face the man as well. Looking directly into his face in that disconcerting way that made Guy think he could see well enough after all, Thurstan said, "I dreamed about the way that Osbert the guard attacked you, Sir Guy."

Guy waited for a moment, but when no other details were forthcoming, he asked, "That's all?"

"That's all," Thurstan agreed. "I wish I'd seen more – I would have liked to have known when to duck, so that Osbert didn't half-break my nose!"

Guy smiled politely, and when the others had finished laughing, he asked, "So how do you know if it's the second sight, or merely a dream?"

"Because usually I'm awake when they come," Thurstan said, then smiled a little. "I only call them dreams. Sometimes they're as strange as dreams, other times they're as clear as life. And sometimes it's only a feeling."

"Sometimes it's like remembering something I didn't know I knew," Quenilda put in, and Thurstan nodded slowly in agreement.

"Can you make the dreams come?" Guy asked. "Can you tell me who will kill Robin Hood and when, for instance?"

"No," Thurstan replied firmly. "I've been trying my entire life, but I can't control the dreams, any more than a man can control the rain or the sunshine."

"If they could dream on demand, before you know it, Robin Hood might come here and ask the same thing about Sir Guy," Isolda murmured into her mother's ear, but everybody else heard it as well. Frowning, Guy reached for his goblet of wine. He was only slightly disappointed at Thurstan's answer, but remained determined that he'd get Hood, with or without the help of any dreams.

xxxxx

The next morning, the weather had changed for the worse, with both rain and wind, and the two guards were already sitting on their horses with the hoods of their cloaks pulled over their heads when Guy approached the stables. Saying good-bye had taken longer than Guy had expected, and he was glad that he could simply get onto his horse and set off; he didn't want to delay any longer. As he rode out, however, he took one last look at the keep and its arrow-slit windows, and felt a pang of sorrow that he could not quite ignore.

They rode in silence. Mindful of Quenilda's dream, Guy was suspicious of everybody they met on the road, but everybody hurried by with scarcely a glance in their direction. Considering the weather, Guy couldn't blame them for keeping their heads bowed, and was also not surprised when, soon enough, they had the road to themselves. Eventually, however, they caught up and overtook a lumbering covered wagon.

"Gotta make a little rain of my own," the guard on Guy's right announced suddenly, guiding his horse to the side of the path where there was a tree and some scraggly bushes. "Anybody else?"

Deciding he might as well take advantage of the stop, Guy followed and dismounted as well. He'd just finished doing up his trousers again when something slammed into the back of his skull, sending him to his hands and knees in the mud. Dazed, his head throbbing, Guy was only vaguely aware of someone pushing him down completely, then pulling at his arms and lashing his wrists together behind his back. They rolled him over, sending an agonizing wave of pain through his cranium, and then someone was sitting on his chest, pulling Guy's mouth open with his fingers. Guy felt something hard against his teeth, and then liquid gushed into his mouth; not rain, but some kind of a sickening herbal concoction. Instinctively, Guy tried to turn his head, to spit it out, but the man gripped his chin with one hand and forced his mouth closed. He pinched Guy's nostrils shut, too, using his other hand. As Guy struggled for breath, he thought he saw, for one single moment of clarity, the face of Osbert the guard appear next to that of the younger guard.

The guard released Guy' face as soon as he'd swallowed down the noxious potion, and Guy gasped for air. His head had cleared enough that he could clearly recognize the man who was still sitting on his chest, and the one kneeling next to him, and he realized he'd seen correctly. It was indeed Osbert, and the other, younger guard who'd attacked him, but in the moment that he recognized them, they got to their feet and pulled him upright as well. Trying to fight back despite his tied hands, Guy lowered his head to butt the younger one in the chest, but Osbert pulled him around by one shoulder and sank his knee hard into Guy's groin. Pain of a dimension that Guy had rarely experienced robbed him of his ability to move, speak, or even breathe, and he was helpless to resist as Osbert bent down slightly and lifted Guy over his shoulder.

Osbert carried him a few steps, then tossed him hard onto the empty bed of a covered wagon. Guy must have blacked out for a few moments, because the next thing he knew, the younger guard was kneeling in the wagon and lashing his ankles round with rope.

"Why do we have to tie 'im up when he'll be asleep soon, anyway?" he was asking.

Groggily, Guy lifted his head. His groin still ached, but at least he could breathe again and even demand, "What're you doing?" at the same time as he rolled onto his side and kicked out with both legs. The young guard dodged and Guy missed.

"That's why!" Osbert exclaimed, laughing at them from his perch on the back of the wagon. From the driver's seat, a different voice ordered, "Luke, tie his ankles to his wrists."

"Hugh, shouldn't that poppy juice have taken effect by now?" Luke grizzled, struggling with Guy for a moment and finally hitting him behind his knees to make his legs bend. He hauled Guy's ankles up and connected them to his wrists with a length of rope, then pulled it taut and knotted it well.

Effectively unable to move, Guy laid his head on the floorboards in defeat, wondering if it were the same covered wagon they'd overtaken just a few hundred yards back. It must be, and yet he was suddenly too tired now to consider the significance of it, or to speculate about what they were doing. The last thing he heard before closing his eyes was Osbert saying, "There's somebody coming – it's Lady Quenilda!"

xxxxx

**GizzysGirl:** Isn't that life, though, a little happiness, a little pain, a little sadness? I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter and that your wish came true. It might even happen again later. (wink)

**Historianic**: Yes, I've always subscribed to the "misunderstood Guy" theory, too. I just can't see him as an all-out baddie, bully, or heartless master-at-arms. Showing this much psychology is new to me, but your comments help me believe that I'm doing okay, so thank you for your incredibly detailed and supportive review. I hope I can live up to your expectations in future chapters.

**Cindy4806**: Quenilda could indeed heal Guy's heart, I think, but it won't happen overnight. Thanks for your enthusiastic reply!

**Rinter**: I think you've seen by now where Guy went, but he didn't feel like he owed Quenilda any explanation. Thanks for your comments!

**BeanieSGirl**: There will be an update every Monday until the story is finished, and we're not quite halfway through. Thank you so much for your love! And as for Thurstan's dreams coming true, keep reading!

And thank you to everybody who's read so far! I appreciate all my lurkers.


	7. Chapter 7

As always, constructive criticism is welcome! Any comments welcome!

xxxxx

After Sir Guy's departure, the keep seemed empty and lifeless to Quenilda. The weather had turned foul and she'd been forced to stay inside instead of going out to see him off. She'd gone to her chamber, under the guise of giving Eva instructions to change the bed linens and tidy up her medicines, and had watched from the arrow-slit window as Sir Guy had ridden through the gate. He'd looked back once, and Quenilda had waved, though she knew he couldn't see her. When he was out of sight, she came away from the window with a little sigh and went to join her mother and sister in the solar.

"What do you think, Quen?" Isolda asked. "There's enough cloth here for a dress for each of us!"

As a thank you for taking care of him, or so he'd said, Sir Guy had given Quenilda a bolt of cloth, but he'd done it such a way as to include all the ladies of the household. It was a fine wool, dyed a cheerful blue, the exact same bolt that a grateful merchant had given to Sir Guy for saving his daughter from the dragon. The colour, Quenilda thought, would have looked very good on the knight, and and yet he'd chosen to leave it behind, instead of some of the other presents he'd received. Was it because blue was a colour traditionally worn for weddings? Now, Isolda had wrapped some of it around her face and shoulders, and asked Quenilda to judge the effect.

"It suits you well," Quenilda replied, and Isolda smiled. Freed from the threat of having to marry a man with such a cruel reputation, a man whose name was not Ivo, Isolda had started to relax a little in Sir Guy's presence and had even smiled that same smile for him when saying good-bye. Quenilda, on the other hand, had caught herself thinking more than once that she would rather have the man than the cloth, the man who had rescued her and slain the dragon, but was unable to hide his own vulnerability.

"How does it look on you? Mother thinks she'll trim hers with brown, or perhaps red," Isolda babbled on, unwinding the cloth and holding it out to Quenilda. "I think you won't need any such trim, what do you say, mother?"

"I could almost think that Sir Guy acquired this with you in mind," Quenilda's mother replied with a little smile. "Well, no matter, it will still make you a gown fit for a wedding."

It was some time later when Eva came to the door of the solar and addressed Quenilda. "My lady, one of the guards has been hurt, could you come and have a look at him?"

"Of course." Quenilda was glad to get away from any sewing that didn't involve stitching wounds together, so she gave her mother an apologetic curtsey and hurried after her maid. The young man was sitting in a corner of the kitchens, holding his head in his hands, and another guard was hovering protectively nearby.

"Let me see," Quenilda said, parting the man's hair to get a good look at the wound. It was sticky with dried blood.

"Owww," the guard moaned.

"Stop that," Quenilda told him, probing the area around the cut. A new trickle of blood started up, but fortunately, his skull felt intact. "You're not dying. Head wounds bleed a lot, that makes them look worse than they really are. What happened?"

"Dunno, my lady. I was just getting ready to ride out with Sir Guy like I was told to, then somebody hit me over the head. When I woke up, I was up in the loft, covered in straw, and tied hand and foot, too! My head aches something awful, and they even stole my armour and my livery, my lady!"

Quenilda froze. "You were going to ride out with Sir Guy?"

"Yes, my lady. The girl I want to marry lives a day's ride from Throxenby, and I thought we could visit her, spend the night with her family without having to pay for an inn, so when I heard that the steward was looking for somebody to ride that way, I volunteered."

"Who else was supposed to accompany Sir Guy?" Quenilda asked, and somehow wasn't surprised when the other guard said, "I was. But then one of the other guards offered me money to trade places with him, and since I'm already married and my wife here in town, I took it, of course."

"Which guard?" Quenilda asked. "Osbert?"

"Old Osbert, yeah," the other guard said, surprised that she'd guessed correctly.

"Old Osbert offered me money, too," the injured guard said. "I don't mind saying I was tempted, because it was a goodly sum, but –"

The dream hit Quenilda with all the force of a blow; a vision of Sir Guy, his hands tied behind his back, being guided through the forest by two men, and a man fitting an arrow to his bow as the men approached with Sir Guy. She knew at once that it was Robin Hood, and saw the hatred on his face as he released the arrow. Then she was in her own dream as well, falling onto her knees next to Guy's body and crying out because she'd come too late.

"No!" Quenilda cried out, and became aware of her surroundings again. The guards were looking at her in confusion and the injured one moaned, "My lady? Am I going to die?"

"Not you," Quenilda said absently, still reeling. "Eva, get my things—no. Either take him to Albreda or fetch her here. I have to –"

She stopped, and Eva asked, "What do you have to do, my lady?"

Quenilda didn't want to answer just then. She straightened up and ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs to the passage that led to the great hall. Her father was there, sitting at the high table and listening to two men fighting over a matter that seemed to involve sheep. When he was busy with administrational duties, the Earl had strict instructions about who could interrupt him, and why, none of which applied at this moment. He looked up in surprised annoyance when Quenilda came bursting in, and Quenilda stopped, abashed. "Forgive me, father," she said, then curtsied and slowed her pace to something more sedate and womanly. It was only after she'd crossed the hall and exited that she realized she hadn't used his title, even though others had been present. But then she glanced towards the steps and saw Thurstan making his way carefully down.

"Grandfather!"

"Quenilda," he said, smiling as she took his arm. "I've just had a dream."

"So have I," she broke in, leading Thurstan back up the stairs again. "Come to my chamber, grandfather, I've also found out something very disturbing."

"What?"

"The Earl asked for two guards to accompany Sir Guy," Quenilda explained. "But Osbert the guard gave money to one of those guards to take his place, and the other guard was hit over the head, tied hand and foot, and left in the loft! Somebody also took his armour and his livery, and if it wasn't Osbert, then it must have been somebody working with him!"

"That would help explain my dream," Thurstan mused as they entered Quenilda's chamber. "Two men were guiding Sir Guy through a forest, then they came to Robin Hood. Hood shot an arrow at him–"

"And I was there, but I came too late," Quenilda said, but Thurstan shook his head. "No, you were already there."

"I was already there? Oh!" Quenilda exclaimed, and catching her hopeful tone of voice, her grandfather asked, "Oh? What, oh?"

"I had almost the same dream, except for the end. I dreamed that I arrived too late and Robin Hood had already killed Sir Guy!"

"Robin Hood killed Sir Guy?" her grandfather asked sharply. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," Quenilda replied, but when her grandfather's worried expression didn't change, she added, "At the end of the dream, I was kneeling next to his body and I knew I'd come too late. I was crying because of it."

Thurstan relaxed slightly, then mused, "Two dreams that start out the same and then end differently. I've never had that before."

"It must mean something!" Quenilda exclaimed. She strolled to her clothes chest and opened the lid as she spoke. "It must mean that I can keep Robin Hood from killing Sir Guy if I get there fast enough! I must go!"

"Granddaughter—" Thustan said slowly, and his voice held an ominous note that made Quenilda stop and straighten up to look at him. "I didn't tell you the rest of my dream. You were already there, standing between Robin Hood and Sir Guy, when Robin Hood shot his arrow."

Quenilda hadn't known how buoyant her heart had become until she felt it sink. "You mean he killed me? Robin Hood killed me instead of Sir Guy, by accident, because I got there in time?"

"I did not see your death," Thurstan said. "I saw the arrow fly. I hope it does not mean what I think it does." He whirled away from her, strolling towards the window, then hit the wall next to it with his fist. "Sometimes I hate this sight! It never shows me what I want to see!"

"But there's hope, there must be!" Quenilda exclaimed. She reached into the chest and pulled out her cloak, then shook it free of its folds. "If you didn't see it, then it might not happen! Robin Hood might aim differently at the last moment, or only wound me, not kill me."

"There's always hope, but I wish you wouldn't be so eager to reach for the thinnest strand of it," Thurstan said.

"I have to go," she replied. She didn't say that she wanted to go; she didn't have to. Instead, she added weakly, "We both dreamed that I was there."

"I know," her grandfather said, and the simple statement encompassed everything.

Quenilda strolled to the table and grabbed her emergency bag, which was always packed with herbal supplies, then slipped the strap over her head and one shoulder. Hearing her movements, Thurstan turned in her direction, holding out his hands, but even as she took them, he let go and put his arms around her instead.

"I wish you could come with me," Quenilda said, hugging him tightly.

Thurstan hugged back, then pushed her away, and she could feel what he did not say. She knew that he regretted not being able to accompany her, help her, and especially protect her, that he was sad she had to go at all, but if she were to have any hope at all, she had to go now, and quickly. Pulling her cloak on, she took time for one last look at him, then went out.

At the stables, Quenilda gave instructions to one of the boys, then caught sight of someone who could come along. "Humphrey! Saddle yourself a horse; you must accompany me!"

He stopped and stared at her, but Quenilda was already whirling away, secure in the knowledge that Humphrey was solidly dependable, no matter how he might sigh or appear otherwise reluctant. As soon as her mount was ready, Quenilda let the stable boy give her a leg up into the saddle, then told him, "Tell Humphrey he's to follow me along the road that leads to Nottingham, as fast as he can!"

"Yes, my lady," the boy replied, and Quenilda spurred the mare into a trot even before she'd passed the gate. Once outside of the town and on the open road, she switched to a gallop, no longer caring when or even if Humphrey caught up with her, but thinking only of Sir Guy. The wind drove the rain into her face and she was soaked before she'd gone a mile, but she didn't care. Even her horse's hooves were pounding out his name in a deep, comforting rhythm. Sir-Guy, Sir-Guy, Sir-Guy.

Quenilda didn't know how long she'd been riding when she saw a wagon, a man and three horses clustered at the side of the road. One of the horses looked familiar, and as she slowed to a trot, she realized it was Roland – Sir Guy's horse! Glancing quickly from the stallion to the guard, she saw Osbert as well. He turned away quickly as though to hide his face, calling something into the wagon, but it was too late, she'd seen him clearly. A moment later, another guard clambered out into sight, a young man, but although he was wearing her father's livery, Quenilda did not recognize him.

"Osbert," Quenilda exclaimed as she pulled her mare to a halt. "Where is Sir Guy?"

"Oh, my lady," the old guard gushed. "What a blessing you've come! Sir Guy's had a relapse, fell right off his horse in a dead faint! We were going to bring him back to Throxenby in this wagon, but you could have a look at him now, see if he's got a fever or maybe something worse."

He put out his arms, expecting to help her out of the saddle, but Quenilda hesitated. It didn't sound right. His voice was friendly – too friendly, when she remembered how he'd spoken to her the day before at the healing spring. And Sir Guy would not have had a relapse, not now. Feeling a sudden, cold rush of fear, Quenilda glanced over her shoulder. Hopefully, Humphrey was coming along and could protect her while she risked a quick look at Sir Guy, but as far as she could see, the road behind her was empty.

The glance cost her any advantage she might have had. Osbert grabbed her waist and her left wrist and hauled her roughly out of the saddle. Too astonished at his boldness to struggle, Quenilda felt him twist her arm roughly behind her back and clamp her tightly to his chest with his other arm. The younger guard looked almost as astonished as she felt, especially when Osbert snarled, "Give her some poppy juice! Luke! Stop staring and get on with it!"

How dare they lay hand on her? And why on earth would they be giving her poppy juice when she wasn't ill or injured? It would only make her fall asleep … oh! When the young guard pulled a small bottle from his pouch and took the lid off, then approached her with the aim of getting her to drink the contents, Quenilda kicked out. But Osbert pulled her arm higher up her back until she shrieked with pain and the fear that her shoulder would be wrenched from its socket. Seizing the chance, the younger guard darted forward and forced a good dose of the liquid between her lips, then Osbert slapped his hand over her mouth and nose. Quenilda choked in her panic for breath, and after Osbert let go, all she could do was cough. She was only vaguely aware that they were tying her hands behind her back, then picking her up and shoving her into the back of the wagon like a rolled tapestry.

The wagon was already well underway by the time Quenilda was able to stop coughing and breathe normally again. Sir Guy was lying next to her, either asleep or unconscious, and tied even more tightly than she was. At least she was still awake, and could still move her legs! She could still do something, even if she wasn't sure what that something should be. With an effort, she heaved herself up to her knees, straining to keep her balance as the wagon lumbered unsteadily along. Now she could see out through the small openings at both the front and the back of the wagon. In front, there was the driver, but nobody was visible through the back. Quenilda scooted closer to that opening, scanning the road that they were leaving behind. Where was Humphrey? He should have caught up to her by now!

"Hey!" cried the driver, and then, "Luke! Osbert! She's tryin' to escape!"

A moment later, the younger guard, Luke, appeared in the opening, turning his horse so that he could lean down and peer in. When he saw Quenilda kneeling there, he drew his sword and poked it in her direction. Quenilda cried out and threw herself backwards to escape the thrust. She landed awkwardly on her bound hands, her head on Sir Guy's arm, and struggled to roll the other way. Because her emergency bag had slipped around to her front, she had to settle onto her side. When she glanced back to the opening, she could see the head of Luke's horse, bobbing along at each step. No doubt Luke would ride behind the wagon from now on in case she tried anything else. Her only hope would be that Humphrey would find her riderless horse and report back to her father, who would realize what had happened and send out a search party.

xxxxx

When Quenilda woke up, it was dark and the wagon had stopped. Hearing voices in the distance, she lifted her head and saw a flickering source of light off to one side. The thought of fire reminded her that she was cold and stiff, and as she tried to call out, she realized her mouth and throat were also completely dry. Running her tongue around her gums, she managed to work up enough spit to swallow and was about to cry out again when she realized it might be to her advantage if the men didn't know she was awake. Even her most stealthy movements, however, caused the wagonbed to creak.

"Who's there?" came a hoarse whisper, much too close to her head. Startled, Quenilda couldn't repress a terrified squeal, and the voice asked again, "Who is that?"

Her heart thudding painfully in her chest, Quenilda gasped for breath, then managed to say, "Sir Guy! It's Quenilda!"

Then was movement from outside and then from the back of the wagon, Osbert announced, "Somebody's awake. Luke, get more poppy juice!"

"Osbert!" Quenilda exclaimed, struggling to her knees. "Why are you doing this, why are you taking Sir Guy to Robin Hood?"

"Because of my daughter," he snarled back. "If I can't have Matilda, I can at least have my share of the fifty pounds reward that Robin Hood'll give us. Your father never offered me anything!"

Quenilda felt as though she'd been slapped for no reason, and fell silent, not sure how to answer that. Quite suddenly, there was enough light to see by; somebody came up from behind Osbert, holding a makeshift torch in one hand. By squinting beyond the flames, Quenilda could just make out the face of the younger guard as he extended a small, familiar-looking bottle. Osbert grabbed it and swung himself up onto the wagonbed, and Quenilda scooted back until her foot came into contact with Sir Guy.

"No!" she cried. "Osbert, please, I –"

"You what?" he asked.

"I have to go to the privy," she blurted out. "Please? I promise I won't try to run away, but I really need to go."

Osbert sighed, handed the bottle back to Luke, then climbed up into the wagon and lifted Quenilda out. It was still raining and the ground was muddy beneath her feet; the men had set up an awning by the side of the wagon to keep the fire dry.

"I'm certain that Sir Guy needs to go, too," she said as Osbert fumbled at the rope around her wrists.

"You first, and if you don't make any trouble, we'll see about him," said the third man from the fireside. Quenilda nodded, then sighed in relief as her hands came free. To her consternation, however, Osbert tied them again in front; not binding them tightly together, but leaving a little less than a foot of rope between them. Even worse, he knotted a noose from another rope and slipped it around her neck as though she were a cow! Quenilda opened her mouth to protest, but Osbert gave her a glare that promised something bad if she did, and so she shut it again. At long last, Osbert let her go several steps beyond the firelight and disappear behind a tree.

After having had his legs tied in a bent position for so long, it was obvious that Sir Guy could barely stand when the men hauled him out of the wagon and set him on his feet, but they still took extra precautions. Quenilda winced in sympathy as they hobbled his ankles with a short length of rope so that he could only take tiny, shuffling steps. Then they not only bound his hands in front with less slack than they had given her, but Osbert also transferred the noose from her neck to Sir Guy's as well.

It didn't take long for Sir Guy to come back, but Quenilda spent the precious few moments observing the camp and its occupants. She had no idea where they were, nor could she see any signs of the road. How far away was it? Was there any chance of them being found by her father's search party? Quenilda recalled her dream, where she had come running up just as Robin Hood killed Sir Guy. She'd thought she'd be free until she stumbled upon their camp; she hadn't reckoned on being taken prisoner, too. She tried to remember if her wrists had been bound in her dream, but that particular detail escaped her.

The man sitting at the side of the fire lifted a skin and drank from it, and Quenilda realized she was thirsty, too.

Reaching out, Quenilda stepped towards him. "May I have a drink, too, please?"

Stopping in surprise, the man considered for a moment, then handed over the skin. Quenilda took a cautious sip and discovered that it was bad ale, but she was parched enough to drink it anyway. Catching a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye, Quenilda turned to see that Sir Guy was shuffling towards the fire; she extended the ale to him as well. He managed only a few swallows, however, before Luke pulled the skin out of his hands and snarled, "That's enough!"

"Let him drink!" Quenilda protested, but it was Osbert who turned to her with a sneer. "Why should we?"

"Because –" Quenilda had been about to explain that the more ale they drank, the more it would increase the effects of the poppy juice, and the longer they would sleep, but shut her mouth as soon as she realized that such information would be helpful only to the guards, not to her and Sir Guy. Weakly, she finished, "He's thirsty, too."

"It tasted awful, anyway," Sir Guy growled, taunting them. "Can't you afford anything better?"

Luke drove his fist into Sir Guy's abdomen with such force that Sir Guy doubled over, fell to his knees, then collapsed sideways in the mud. His mouth was moving, but no sound came out, and Quenilda watched in horror as he jerked a few times before finally managing to inhale.

"Right," said Osbert. "Luke, give me the poppy juice, and hold him down."

Sir Guy reached out for Luke's foot and pulled it out from under him, sending the young man sprawling backwards into the mud. Scrambling angrily to his feet, Luke threw himself onto Sir Guy, slamming his fist into the man's face. With Osbert's help, Luke forced a dose of the poppy juice down Sir Guy's throat, then hit him a few more times until the third man gave him a sharp command to stop. Not wanting to see, yet unable to look elsewhere, Quenilda backed away until she'd cleared the awning and was standing in the rain. She wanted to run, but she didn't know which way to go. Then she realized that even if she did discover the road, she'd be leaving Sir Guy to certain death. Straightening her shoulders, she stepped back under the awning, and when Osbert came for her, she reached out her hand.

"I will drink it without a fight," she said. He didn't give her the tiny bottle, not that she'd expected him to, but she kept her word nonetheless and did not resist when he tipped it to her lips.

Xxxxx

GizzysGirl: Thanks for saying you enjoy how I describe Guy's thoughts. Sometimes paragraphs like those can be boring. I'm afraid you'll have to wait a bit longer for Guy to grab Quenilda and kiss her, though, or for anything else. But thanks for reading so far, and I hope you continue!

Rinter: Will Guy be saved? All I can say is, keep reading, and thanks for all your comments so far.

Historianic: Thank you so much for that well-thought-out comment and the praise. (beams happily) I live for feedback like that.

And thank you to everybody who's read so far! I appreciate all my lurkers, too.


	8. Chapter 8

As always, constructive criticism is welcome! Any comments welcome!

xxxxx

By the time they arrived in Sherwood Forest, Quenilda's life had been reduced to short bursts of wakefulness twice a day. She and Sir Guy were allowed out of the wagon each morning and evening to attend to their needs, have an inadequate meal of bad ale and heavy, dark bread, and speak a few sentences of conversation with their captors before being forced to swallow yet another dose of poppy juice. Although Quenilda shivered constantly in the cold and damp, she was determined not to let the circumstances overwhelm her.

By trying to make polite conversation during the meals, Quenilda had discovered that both Hugh and Luke were related to Osbert. Hugh was Osbert's brother, and Luke seemed to be a nephew, but was not Hugh's son. Luke had also lived in or near Nottingham for a time, and had firsthand knowledge of Robin Hood, and also Sir Guy, whom he blamed for the death of both parents and the fact that his older brother was now in the Holy Land, probably forever. Hugh spoke the least, and was also the least violent of the three, keeping Luke and Osbert from beating Sir Guy too badly or too often.

More importantly, however, Quenilda had woken up slightly earlier than usual one afternoon to find that Luke was in the back of the wagon with them, refilling the skin of ale from a small keg. She'd watched him and daydreamed lazily of pouring all their poppy juice into that keg, so that they'd be the ones to fall asleep, and she could escape with Sir Guy. The idea didn't let her go, and when she was fully awake, she began to actively look for ways to implement it. Although she had her own tiny supply of poppy juice in her emergency bag, which still hung around her neck and shoulder, she couldn't find a way to prevent the men from drugging them first, so that any advantage they'd have from the sleeping men would be cancelled out.

That day, she fell asleep without solving the problem, but the next morning, listening to Osbert hawk and spit, Quenilda was reminded of vomiting. If she could just expel the poppy juice from her stomach before it took effect, she might have a chance to stay awake. Did she still have that mixture in her bag that would induce vomiting, or would she have to put her finger down her throat? And how could she do either if her hands were still tied behind her back? She sighed; by the time she'd be able to implement her plan, they'd be in Robin Hood's clutches already!

In the night, Quenilda had snuggled up to Sir Guy for warmth and comfort; now she felt him shift slightly. She moved so that her lips were closer to his ear and whispered, "Sir Guy? Are you awake?"

He didn't answer for a long moment, and she started to believe he was still asleep, but then he sighed and whispered back, "Yeah."

"I've got a plan, but I need some help. Could you try to untie my hands?"

Just then, however, the wagon shifted as Osbert climbed up onto the back and came in through the opening. He grabbed Quenilda first, wrestling her out of the wagon and into Luke's waiting arms. For all his cruelty to Sir Guy, Luke was quite gentle with Quenilda, and sometimes even smiled at her. Now, because it was still raining, he took her under the awning before starting to untie her.

"We're coming up on Sherwood Forest now," Luke said as he picked at the knots around her wrists. "It'll all be over soon."

"What are you going to do with me once it's all over?" Quenilda asked. She'd put the same question to Osbert the day before, but had only received a disdainful grunt for an answer.

"Leave you with Robin Hood, I guess," Luke said. "He'll probably find a way to get you home, or at least send a message to your family. But don't worry, he won't hurt you."

"Even though I came to help Sir Guy?" she asked.

Luke finished with the rope, then came around to stand in front of her. "I met Robin a few times, and my brother lived with him in the forest, and told me a lot about him. He's a good man. He'll understand if you haven't seen the real Gisborne, if you've been taken in by his attempt to act noble and kill the dragon and all that. I'll put in a good word for you, tell him how you try to help everybody with your herbs and your healing, no matter who they are or what they've done. Robin'll make sure you get back safe and sound."

"Thank you," Quenilda said sincerely, even as part of her mind was thinking, _but I have seen the real Gisborne! I've seen his pain for what he's done! He's not the monster that everybody thinks he is!_

But now was not the time to defend Sir Guy with words; now was the time to concentrate on her escape plan while she was still awake. After tying her wrists loosely to each other, Luke put the noose of the other rope around her neck and let her walk behind a bush. Quenilda immediately took the opportunity to open her bag to see if she still had the emetic. She did, though the dose was only enough for one person. Returning it to the bag, she also found something else at the very bottom – a small knife with a very sharp blade that she used for slicing herbs and roots. Why hadn't she looked before? Allowing herself a short, triumphant grin, she slipped the knife into the side of her belt, as far around to the back as she could get it with her hands connected. When she'd made sure that it was hidden horizontally and not peeking out at top or bottom, she bit down her jubilation and returned to the camp.

Hugh handed her a chunk of dark bread and she slowly chewed off a piece, watching as the men brought Sir Guy out of the wagon. They'd already hobbled his ankles as though expecting him to try and run, but far from attempting to escape the minute his foot hit the ground, Sir Guy struggled instead to even stand, let alone walk on his stiff, cramped legs. Osbert kicked him once in the side of the leg, and he stumbled, falling to his knees in the mud. Keeping his head down, looking beaten in more ways than one, Sir Guy got slowly to his feet, but at the last moment, he pretended to fall against Osbert, and gave him a shove that sent the other man staggering. Osbert shoved back, then pummeled Sir Guy with his fists.

Watching Sir Guy unable to defend himself from the blows, Quenilda felt something give inside of her. Marching over to Osbert, she demanded, "Why do you torment him so? He is not the dragon who ate your daughter!"

"Because he came too late," Osbert grunted, but he stopped. Not meeting Quenilda's eyes, he reached for the rope with the noose in it, and placed it around Sir Guy's neck, then added, "Weeks too late."

"He didn't even know that there was a dragon!" Quenilda protested. "Why do you not torment me instead?"

Osbert finally looked at her, utterly baffled at her question, and she went on, "For not choosing the dragon's lot that week instead of Matilda? One reason is as good or as bad as another if you're looking to make others suffer simply because you yourself are hurting."

"Shut your mouth!" Osbert snarled. "I wasn't planning to hit you, but I might just start now!"

"If you—" Quenilda started, and Osbert actually lifted his hand as he stepped towards her. She flinched back instinctively, and when he relented, she added shakily, "Osbert, please. If you keep beating Sir Guy, you might well kill him before you even get to Robin Hood, and then what will your reward be?"

"Is that one of your dreams?" Osbert sneered.

"Yes!" Quenilda announced, and hoped through sheer force to disguise the fact that she was not telling the truth. It must have worked, because Osbert looked back uncertainly at Sir Guy, then returned to his work of re-tying the man's bonds, this time without violence. Glancing over at her, Sir Guy lifted his eyebrows in silent query, and it took all of Quenilda's self-control not to look away.

When they had resumed their journey and the men had put them back in the wagon, Sir Guy murmured, "You shouldn't have told them about your dream, you should have just let them carry on."

"And let them kill you?" Quenilda demanded, wrestling herself from her stomach onto her left side, then reaching into her belt for the tiny knife.

Sighing in the same unenthusiastic way as Humphrey and Godfrey, Sir Guy replied, "Better them than Hood. I wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction."

Gripping the knife in her hand, Quenilda pushed herself a little closer to Sir Guy and put her lips next to his ear. "It wasn't a dream. I just wanted them to stop hurting you."

She felt him lift his head slightly to look up at her, and when he spoke, his voice was full of naked astonishment. "You lied to them … for me?"

"Yes!" she replied softly, turning the knife in her fingers and trying to saw through the rope. Holding it at the right angle was more difficult than she'd thought.

Sir Guy laid his head down again. "Then Luke is right. You haven't seen the real Gisborne."

"Yes, I have," Quenilda protested. She accidentally jabbed the knife into her wrist as she spoke, and the words came out more loudly than she'd intended. Lowering her voice again, she said, "And even if I haven't, I just can't stand seeing men torment somebody who is already in such pain."

"What makes you think I'm in pain?" Sir Guy asked, trying to inject skepticism into his voice. He wasn't completely successful.

"I've heard you," Quenilda replied, shifting the knife slightly and trying again. "All the time you were ill, you were calling out for her. Lady Marian. I know you didn't mean to kill her, I know it was an accident. And I know how much you regret it because I heard you crying."

"I dreamed of her," Sir Guy said quietly. "So often … I thought she loved me. And then she told me that she loved Robin Hood. I only wanted to stop her from saying that—"

His voice broke. Quenilda stopped fumbling with the knife and lifted her head to look at him, sensing more than seeing the anguish he felt. Her first instinct was to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, but she couldn't, so she settled for trying to shift closer. The wagon hit an uneven patch of road just then, and the resulting lurch sent her sprawling onto Sir Guy's side.

"It's all right," she said. She expected him to turn away, but he didn't stir, which was encouraging. "It's all right," she whispered again, then rolled away from him.

Spurred on by the knowledge that she only had a short time until the poppy juice would take effect, Quenilda immediately resumed trying to cut the rope around her wrists. Eventually, her efforts were crowned with success, and her hands fell free. Quenilda lifted her head and kept the driver in sight as she slipped the knife back into her belt. Careful not to make any movements or noise that would attract attention, she rose up onto her hands and knees and searched her bag for the small bottle of poppy juice. She set it next to Sir Guy's shoulder, then reached for the keg and eased it carefully onto its side so that she could work the bung free from its hole. At last, she unstoppered the bottle and poured the contents into the ale, shaking it to get out every possible drop. Her eyes were already growing heavy as she used both thumbs to push the bung back into place, then returned the keg to its original position.

Remembering that the dose of emetic in her bag was only enough for one person, Quenilda decided to save it for Sir Guy, but first, she had to get the poppy juice out of her own stomach. Finding an empty patch of wagonbed close to their feet, careful not to soil any of the supplies, she stuck her finger down her throat until she retched, and vomited up everything she'd had for breakfast. The action left her exhausted, however, and she sank down onto the wooden planks, intending to rest for only a minute or two before helping Sir Guy.

xxxxxx

When Quenilda opened her eyes again, the wagon had stopped, and at first, she groggily accepted that it was evening, time for their few minutes of freedom and food. But something was wrong; it was still light outside, and she couldn't hear anything from beyond the wagon except a low, rhythmic sound. It sounded vaguely like snoring, as though somebody were asleep out there – and then she remembered. The poppy juice! It had worked! Triumphantly, Quenilda raised her head, only to have her jubilation replaced instantly with despair. Her wrists were tied behind her back again, and this time, her ankles were tied as well, with her legs bent at the knee. She tried to extend them, and felt a corresponding tug on her arms. She obviously hadn't managed to get the poppy juice out of her stomach fast enough. When the men had gone for the ale, they must have discovered that she'd managed to get loose before falling asleep, and had fettered her in the same way they'd done Sir Guy.

But had they found the knife? Quenilda fumbled at her belt and felt its contour beneath the leather. Getting it out was more problematic, however, now that her range of motion was even more severely restricted. She had to arch her back and pull her legs higher up behind her in order to allow her hands more movement, but eventually, she managed to work the knife out with two fingers. Gripping it firmly, she set about sawing through the rope again. It was easier this time, now that she had some experience, and it didn't take long for her to free herself. Although the wagonbed creaked at some of her more energetic movements, there was still no sound from outside. Nonetheless, as soon as she could sit up, she crawled to the rear of the wagon, ignoring the complaints of her stiff muscles, and peered out.

It was colder than she'd expected, but it had stopped raining at last; the men had put up the awning at the side of the wagon, and it was still wet. By craning her neck, Quenilda could see them curled around the remains of a fire, all deeply asleep and not noticing or caring that they lay in the mud. The feeling of triumph returned, and Quenilda ducked back into the wagon, quickly slicing through the various ropes that held Sir Guy. He remained asleep as well, and though she knew he'd probably wake up before the men did, she couldn't afford to wait that long. Her legs protested as she climbed down from the wagon for a better look.

The two horses that Osbert and Luke had been riding were tethered to nearby trees, but of Sir Guy's horse, and her own with its lady's saddle, there was no sign. Quenilda frowned. It would be difficult to heave Sir Guy out of the wagon and sling him over the back of a horse, but on the other hand, she'd never driven a wagon before, and her inexperience could well be disastrous. At length, she untied one of the free horses and led it around to the back of the wagon, commanding it to stand there. The men might have gotten rid of Sir Guy's horse, but they'd kept his packs in one corner of the wagon, and she hefted them into place behind the saddle, groaning slightly at the weight. His sword had been hidden underneath them the entire time, along with a long dagger that Quenilda wished she'd known about earlier. It would have been much easier to use than her tiny herb knife. After she'd tucked the dagger into her own belt, she hung the sword belt from the pommel, then went back for Sir Guy himself.

The horse was patient and only shifted once as Quenilda dragged Sir Guy up over the end of the wagon and draped him on top of the saddle bags. When Sir Guy finally hung over the sides of the horse as evenly as she could arrange him, Quenilda hitched her skirts up above her knees and settled herself in the saddle. The stirrups were too low for her short legs and she had to take precious time to adjust them. Then, after taking the reins in her left hand, Quenilda reached behind with her right hand to rest it on Sir Guy's back, and clicked her tongue for the horse to walk on.

The men hadn't made their camp very far from the road, and she found it almost immediately. The tracks of the wagon's wheels were still visible in the muddy ground where they'd left the path, and Quenilda turned the horse in the direction from which the tracks had come. It was an hour or two past midday, Quenilda thought, and they should be far away by the time evening came. To make certain of that, Quenilda urged the horse into a trot, keeping a grip on Sir Guy's cloak in case he should start to slide off.

Every so often, Quenilda let the horse slow to a walk, so that she could look around, see that they weren't being followed, and check up on Sir Guy. She also had to stop once when she came to a crossing. There was no sign post, no border stone, nothing and no one to give her any directions to get out of the forest. Hoping for the best, Quenilda turned to the right. She hadn't gone more than ten or fifteen yards, however, when she heard the sound of gallopping horses from the road she'd just left. Worried that the men had already woken up and were in pursuit, Quenilda turned her horse into the woodland and urged it diagonally away from all the paths. The oak and birch trees had already lost their leaves, but the sheer number of their trunks might be enough to hide her. As the riders thundered past, continuing straight ahead, Quenilda watched, and was pleased to see that they never once faltered or gave any other sign that they'd noticed her.

After waiting a few minutes longer than it took for the sound of hooves to disappear completely, Quenilda guided her horse back to the road and resumed trotting. One of the horses that had gone by had been white, very different from the darker horses that Osbert, Luke and Hugh had been using. The men were probably still sleeping; surely Sir Guy would awaken long before they did, and they'd still have plenty of time to get far away.

Quenilda's plans came to an abrupt end, however, when two men stepped out from behind bushes onto the road ahead, bows drawn and arrows pointed directly at her. She pulled up sharply, her heart hammering in her chest and her mouth suddenly dry.

"This," one of the men announced, "is an ambush."

"Just hand over any money or jewelry you've got, and we'll let you go peacefully on your way," the second man said. He was no longer looking at her face, and when she followed his gaze, Quenilda realized he was staring at her bare leg where her skirt no longer covered it. She flushed with embarrassment, but couldn't pull her dress down without getting off the horse.

"I haven't got any money or jewelry," Quenilda said in an attempt to distract him. "Please, just let us go."

Hearing the "us," the man finally became aware of Sir Guy. "Who's that, and what's wrong with him?"

"He's my husband." It was becoming much easier for Quenilda to lie, which worried her conscience. "Well, my betrothed." That was closer to the truth. "He's asleep."

"Asleep? He must be more than just asleep. What is he, drunk? And what have you got in those saddle bags? Come on, hand them over." The man lowered his bow and arrow, then heaved Sir Guy from the horse.

"No!" Quenilda protested. "Leave him alone!" She swung her leg forwards over the saddle and jumped down, rushing over as the man dragged the unconscious Sir Guy to the side of the road and let him drop. Still holding his bow and arrow, the first man moved closer, prepared to fire if Quenilda made any threatening moves. Holding her hands away from her body in a submissive gesture, she knelt down next to Sir Guy.

"If you haven't got any money, what's all this, then?" the second man asked. More interested in the saddlebags than in Sir Guy, he'd gone back to the horse to check them; now he held a small sack of coins in each hand.

"It's his, not mine," Quenilda told him, then made a quick decision. "But if you'll just leave us enough to get back to Throxenby, you can take the rest. Please."

"Throxenby?" the first man asked. The second man shot her a suspicious look. "Hang on, what's your name?"

Quenilda was starting to suspect that one of the men was Robin Hood himself, but at least neither of them had recognized Sir Guy yet. Guardedly, she said, "Please, just take the money and let us go."

"You're her, aren't you?" the first man asked. "The daughter of the Earl of Throxenby."

The second man abruptly shoved the money back into the saddle bags, then surprised them both by saying, "Quenilda. That's your name, isn't it? Lady Quenilda of Throxenby?"

"How did you know?" Quenilda asked, dumbfounded and shivering not only because of the cold.

The second man strode back over to where she knelt. "If you're Lady Quenilda," he said, "then that's –"

"Gisborne," the first man finished for him. They both stared down at Sir Guy, and Quenilda felt her heart sink.

xxxxx

Hearing his name, Guy lay still, kept his eyes shut, and listened. It was Quenilda speaking, and her next words made his heart sink.

"You're Robin Hood," she said. There was a long silence, and then she asked, "Are you going to kill him now, while he's asleep and can't defend himself?"

Guy waited for the outlaw to say something cocky, but the next person who spoke wasn't Hood.

"What's wrong with him, why doesn't he wake up?"

Guy recognized the voice instantly: Allan a Dale, or rather, Allan the Traitor. He'd been a member of Hood's gang, until Hood had caught him selling information to Guy and had kicked him out. Naturally, he'd come crawling on his belly to Guy for help. Generally speaking, Guy had liked him, but he'd never trusted the man, and he hadn't been too surprised when Allan had turned tail again and gone back to Hood.

"He's been drugged with poppy juice," Quenilda explained.

"By you?" Guy knew that voice, too; it was Much, Hood's manservant.

"No, not by me! By the men who attacked him and wanted to bring him to you for the reward," Quenilda replied sharply.

"Reward?" Allan asked. "I don't remember any reward."

Trust Allan to pay attention to anything that might involve money, Guy thought.

"That man, that messenger," Much said. "He mentioned some kind of reward. I had no idea what he was talking about."

"Does that mean the rumours aren't true?" Quenilda asked. "You're not going to give fifty pounds to the man who brings you Sir Guy of Gisborne so you can kill him?"

Allan sounded exasperated. "No, of course it's not true! How do rumours like these get started, anyway? If everything in the rumours were true, we'd be able to fly!"

"We'd never be hungry," Much added.

"Or cold," Allan went on. "And we'd have women throwing themselves at us all the time."

Guy smiled inwardly at the likelihood of _that_.

"We'd never get hurt," Much said, and for some reason, the simple sentence stopped the litany of complaints cold. There was an awkward pause, and then Allan said, "Yeah, we'd better get back to camp and see how Robin's doing."

"You're not Robin Hood?" Quenilda asked sharply, and Guy heard Allan's amused snort.

"Nah," he said, "I'm Allan, and this is Much. Come on, Much, help me get Guy onto the horse again."

Guy waited, and as soon as they'd heaved him upright, he burst into action, wrenching his arms free, and hitting and kicking. He fought as well as he could, but it was painfully obvious that he was still affected by the poppy juice, along with having been tied up for so long in the cold wagon. His balance was off, and his movements were neither quick nor accurate. The short fight ended when Much caught him by one arm and the back of his neck, and rammed his forehead into a nearby tree. Seeing stars, Guy dropped to his knees, and it was, ironically, only Much that kept him from falling face down, by holding onto his arms while Allan tied them securely together behind his back.

Guy wobbled as Allan and Much pulled him to his feet again, and automatically tested the cord around his wrists. It was strong and unyielding, and that aggravated Guy. He was so _tired_ of being trussed up and unable to move! As Allan went over to her, Quenilda extended her hands in submission, obviously expecting to be tied up as well. She looked both frightened and noble at the same time, something that obviously didn't escape Allan.

"You gonna try to run away?" Allan asked her. "'Cos it's gonna get awfully dark and cold in this forest soon, and you'd probably get lost and freeze to death before you found your way out."

"I won't try to run away," Quenilda told him.

"You gonna attack me when my back is turned?" Allan went on, and Quenilda gave Guy a quick look, then shook her head. "No."

"Then just give me that dagger and I won't tie you up," Allan said.

Quenilda looked down at her waist as though she didn't know what he meant, then removed Guy's dagger from her belt and handed it over. Guy wondered vaguely where she'd got it, then realized it must have come from the same place as the horse, his saddle packs, and the sword that was hanging over the pommel. She'd not only managed to escape Osbert and his men, she'd also retrieved everything of value that Guy'd had on him when he'd ridden away from Throxenby. She'd be the right woman to have for a wife, he caught himself thinking, then stopped, reminding himself again that he'd already made his choice not to marry. And anyway, he'd probably be dead soon.

"May I walk beside Sir Guy in case he needs to lean on me?" Quenilda asked, and Guy felt his heart leap with hope for one short moment. If she'd managed to escape once and take him with her, maybe she could manage it again. But the outlaws were too canny, even for a girl who both looked and sounded harmless, and Much immediately said, "No."

"You can walk beside me," Allan suggested jokingly. "In fact, you'll have to."

"The location of our camp is secret," Much explained, glaring hard at Guy. "We're going to blindfold both of you and lead you there."

"You don't need to blindfold me," Quenilda protested. "I've never been here before, I wouldn't know my way around coming or going."

"Yeah, well, it's not personal, we're just not taking any chances," Allan said, and Much added, "Especially not with Gisborne."

Guy sneered in his direction. "What does it matter if you're going to kill me anyway?"

"Because Robin said we don't bring anybody to the camp without blindfolding them, no matter who they are," Much said.

"Even the King?" Guy taunted him as Much pulled a dirty cloth from around his neck and tied it over Guy's eyes.

"Yes, even the King," Much replied haughtily and then, less certainly, he added, "Well, maybe not _him_."

Guy expected him to put a rope around his neck and lead him like a cow, in the same way that Osbert and his men had done, but Much settled for slipping his arm into Guy's and walking by his side. His proximity made Guy acutely aware that he couldn't even try to pick at the cord around his wrists without Much noticing his movements. After some to-ing and fro-ing, which turned out to be Much taking the reins of the horse in his other hand, they set out for the camp.

xxxxx

**BeanieSgirl**: Glad you look forward to the updates. I'm afraid your questions weren't answered in this section, but they will be in the next installment. Thanks for reading and commenting!

**GizzysGirl**: Thank you for the "amazing" and the "exciting." As for Quenilda's dreams, keep reading!

**LadyKate1**: Thank you! I am very flattered that you bothered to read something you wouldn't ordinarily read, just because of my writing and my characterization. (beams happily) I can't promise anything about Guy and Marian, though, because I can't think of anything else until I get this story finished. But thank you again, and I hope you keep reading.

**Cindy4806**: Yes, Quenilda (and her family) have so much that they can teach Guy, if he'll just let them. Let's see if anything happens to make him change his mind and open up. But, yeah, he's definitely his own worst enemy. But as for Guy and Quenilda being even with each other, or being rewarded, I don't think things are that simple. Thanks for reading and commenting – I'll definitely keep writing!

**Rinter**: Glad you keep reading and looking forward to more! There will be updates every Monday until it's finished!

And thank you to everybody who's read so far! I appreciate all my lurkers, too.


	9. Chapter 9

Any comments, any criticism, any remarks are welcome!

xxxxx

"Oi, Quenilda," Allan said as they walked. "You know your father's been looking for you for days now?"

"My father?" Quenilda echoed, her voice sounding brighter.

"Yeah, he's sent messengers all over the shire, even to us. Did you know that Robin and the Earl knew each other before the Crusades?"

"No," Quenilda replied. Guy wondered if the Earl had mentioned that fact to his older daughter, Isolda.

"All right, I mean, Robin said he only met the Earl once, years ago, but he knew his brother in the Holy Land before he got sent home with only one leg. Anyway, Robin promised the Earl's messenger that we wouldn't hurt you, and if we found you in the forest, we'd make sure you got safely to Nottingham. That's where he'll be staying."

"The messenger?" Quenilda asked, and Allan said, "No, the Earl."

"The Earl's coming to—?"

But instead of finishing her question, Quenilda gave a short, sharp cry, and Guy heard the rustle and thud of somebody falling onto old leaves.

"Sorry, didn't mean to let you trip," Allan said. "Here, I'll help you up."

Feeling the pull on his arm that meant Much had stopped walking, Guy stopped too, and waited for Quenilda to say something. After a moment of silence, Allan spoke again, and there was a slight element of uncertainty in his voice. "Quenilda? You all right?"

Much asked, "What's she doing?"

"Dunno," Allan replied. "Quenilda?"

"What's happened?" Guy demanded.

"She tripped and fell, but now she's just … lying there," Allan said.

"Did she hit her head?" Much asked. He sounded as worried as Guy felt. "Did she break her neck?"

"Nobody breaks their neck by tripping over a twig in the forest, Much!" Allan protested. "And she didn't hit her head. You can see she was starting to get up, I dunno why she just stopped like that. Oi! Quenilda!"

Then there was a slight sound of crackling leaves, and Guy heard Much suddenly inhale. The sound chilled him, and he tugged at the cord around his wrists, wanting to break them so that he could rip off his blindfold and see for himself what was happening with Quenilda.

"You all right now?" Allan asked, and to Guy's great relief, Quenilda finally answered. "Yes … yes, thank you."

"What was all that about, then?"

"I apologize if I kept you waiting," Quenilda said briskly, sounding exactly like the Earl. "I was just a little … shocked, that's all. Because I tripped."

"Oh, well, if that's all," Allan said, but he didn't sound convinced. "Come on, then, the camp's not going to get up and walk to us!"

It seemed that everybody except Guy had forgotten the question of the Earl himself coming to Nottingham, because they continued on in silence after that. The wind whipped at them from behind, and Guy clenched and un-clenched his hands continuously in an attempt to combat the cold. Then they changed direction so that the wind battered his left side, which wasn't much better. Eventually, however, after they'd made their way down a fairly steep slope, Much finally announced, "Well, here we are."

He let go of Guy, and Guy heard the jingle of the horse's bridle as Much secured the reins to something. At the same time, somebody approached him from in front and reached up to tug off his blindfold. It was Quenilda; she gave him a little smile, which Guy hardly noticed. He was looking beyond her at the outlaws' camp, which wasn't at all what he had expected. Instead of motley tents and rough lean-tos, he could see into a wooden structure that wasn't exactly a hut or a house, but something just as solid constructed up against the rockface of a small cliff.

"Robin," Much called. Having finished with the horse, he now grabbed Guy's arm again and pulled him inside the structure. "Robin, we've got Gisborne!"

Robin had been sitting close to a fire in the middle of the structure, fletching arrows by the look of it, but as soon as he saw Guy, he grabbed his bow from nearby and fitted one of the finished arrows to the string.

"You'd shoot me when I'm unarmed?" Guy taunted him. This was not how he'd imagined facing the outlaw again. "When my hands are tied behind my back?"

"Marian was unarmed!" Hood shouted, and jumped to his feet. His face contorted in pain and he almost lost his balance, but he hastily shifted his weight to his left foot and brought his bow into position again. A moment too late, Much stepped forward to help, but then, seeing that he wasn't needed, he fell back and turned to Guy.

"I'll untie you," he said threateningly, reaching over to Allan and plucking Guy's dagger from his belt. Then he moved behind Guy and sliced through the cord, freeing Guy's hands. Surveying the new situation, Guy pulled his arms around to the front, holding his hands up to emphasize his lack of weapons.

"And here! You're armed!" Much tried to give Guy the dagger, but Guy refused to take it and merely gave the outlaw a scathing glance before returning his attention to Hood. Hood was so close that he couldn't miss, and the arrow had more than enough force to go right through him. It would be a quick death, he realized, but the thought still frightened him. Not wanting to give Hood the satisfaction of seeing his fear, however, he attempted to appear nonchalant, even as Hood took closer aim.

"Don't kill him!" Quenilda said, coming a few steps around the fire and then stopping halfway between Guy and Hood. "Please, don't shoot him."

Hood didn't even look at her. "He deserves to die! He killed my wife!"

"It was an accident, and he hates himself for it," Quenilda stated.

"What do you know about it?" Hood demanded, his voice dripping both disbelief and contempt. For the first time, he turned to look at her. "Who are you, anyway?"

"My name is Quenilda," she said.

"Lady Quenilda of Throxenby," Allan said. "You know, the one the messenger was telling us about?"

"She said she was Gisborne's betrothed wife," Much scoffed.

"What?" Guy blurted out, hearing Hood speak exactly the same word at the same time. They both turned to look at Quenilda, who started to tremble under the scrutiny. Had it only been a lie of convenience? Guy watched her, and wondered.

"I didn't know who you were," she replied, her gaze taking in Much and Allan. Her voice was a little shaky, and she couldn't meet Guy's gaze. "And it was not so very far from the truth … once. Sir Guy rescued me from the dragon, and my father offered me to him in marriage."

"Doesn't your father know anything about Gisborne?" Hood demanded. "Don't you? Haven't you heard anything about what kind of man he is?"

Guy waited, anxious to hear what Quenilda would say about him, torn between his desire not to reveal his deepest feelings to the outlaws and yet wondering if doing just that would keep them from killing him.

"I heard him crying in his sleep," Quenilda explained. "I heard him crying for Lady Marian. He was in such pain! You don't have to punish him for what he's done, he's punishing himself enough already. Even if you kill him, you can't send him to a worse hell than the one he's made for himself! Don't you know, Robin Hood, why he came to Throxenby in the first place? It was because of how much he bitterly regrets what happened, because of how much pain he's suffering!"

As she spoke, Guy gazed at Quenilda, trying to see into her soul the way she had obviously seen into his. She'd said something similar to him earlier, when they'd both been in the wagon, and now here she was, saying it yet again, and sounding as though she were pleading his case before a court. It was almost frightening to think that she had looked so deeply and seen so much, yet hadn't run away screaming. She'd not only accepted him, but she'd also ridden out to try and prevent his death, and even now, she was still trying to save his life.

Quenilda continued, "Pain can make people violent –"

"I do not want to hear about Gisborne's pain!" Hood snapped, but then he looked away to his left, and even seemed about to lower his bow.

"You're in pain, too," Quenilda said. "Not just your heart – there's something wrong with your leg, isn't there?"

"Never mind about my leg!" Hood growled.

"I have both knowledge and herbs," Quenilda said, laying a hand on the bag at her waist. "I could help you … if you'd promise to let Sir Guy go."

Guy felt something stir inside his heart, a strange but pleasant combination of feelings that he knew would only be destroyed by others, and soon, if he didn't make the effort to strangle them himself. That effort, however, proved more difficult than he'd expected. He _wanted_ to feel hope, he _wanted_ to feel that somebody cared for him, he _wanted_ to enjoy the fact that somebody – no, not just somebody, but specifically Quenilda – cared if he lived or died.

"Right," Hood scoffed. "You think I'm just going to let the man who murdered my wife walk free in exchange for a few leaves or a bit of bark?"

"I think you'll regret it sooner rather than later if you kill Sir Guy now," Quenilda said, and Hood grimaced, but before he could say anything, someone shouted, "Robin!" from outside the camp. Guy turned with the rest and saw a big, burly man jogging down the slope towards them. To judge by the staff he carried, which was taller than himself, it was the man they called Little John.

"Robin," he panted as he came into the camp. "Robin, there's a dragon!"

For a moment, there was a stunned silence, and then Allan laughed. "What?"

"A dragon?" Much repeated. "Here?"

"In Locksley," John confirmed. "It ate a girl. Kate."

"Kate?" Much echoed, suddenly stricken. "The daughter of Rebecca, the potter?"

"She was a maid. It ate her because she was a maid," Quenilda mused out loud, and Guy watched as John nodded, then gave Much's shoulder a silent, sympathetic squeeze. Guy remembered Allan's joke about women throwing themselves at the outlaws all the time, and wondered if it hadn't actually been the other way around, at least once.

"Too bad the Sheriff isn't a maid," Allan said. "The dragon won't be eating him, then."

Nobody smiled. John turned to Hood. "There's more. The dragon breathed fire on Locksley Manor. It was still burning when I left."

_My house_! Guy thought, but didn't dare to express his indignation out loud.

"They say that Aldith was inside," John said. "Tending to one of the guards. No chance for them to get out, any of them."

"It's following Sir Guy," Quenilda murmured in the same low voice. "It knows he killed the other dragon."

Guy gawped at her, along with the others, and watched her flush under their scrutiny as he asked, "How could it know that?"

"It ate the other dragon," Quenilda reported, "and then it knew. Do you remember how that other dragon bit you in the arm? It tasted you and now, somehow, this dragon knows how you taste, too. And – forgive me, Sir Guy – it knows how you smell. Your scent must be very strong in Locksley, to draw it there."

"If it's following Gisborne, if it can smell him, is it coming here?" Much asked, edging away from Guy and glancing fearfully to the opening. Guy looked as well, suddenly knowing exactly how a deer felt when the hounds were after it, and was not exactly relieved when there was no sign of anything swooping towards them. That only meant it would come later, and perhaps at a much worse time.

"Maybe it'll go to Nottingham next," Allan suggested weakly. "If Locksley stinks of Gisborne, then the castle will, too."

"How do you know all this?" Hood demanded.

"I—I have the second sight," Quenilda admitted in a small, embarrassed voice. "I saw it."

"You knew it was coming after Gisborne, and you didn't tell us?" Much cried. "Is that – is that your plan, to use Gisborne to lead it here, so it can eat us?"

"No," Quenilda said, but Much drew his sword as he continued to speak. "Burn our camp down? Eat our flesh, crunch our bones and suck the marrow from them—"

"No!" Quenilda protested again, sounding puzzled as though that possibility had never occurred to her. It hadn't occurred to Guy, either, though he found himself suddenly wishing it could be possible. But the outlaws weren't maids, not by any stretch of the imagination, and anyway, according to Quenilda, the dragon was looking for _him. _No doubt it wanted revenge on him, wanted a death for a death, just like Hood. He was damned whichever way he turned.

Much pointed his sword in Quenilda's direction, and she cried out, "I didn't know anything about the dragon until I tripped in the woods! That's when I had the dream, not before! And I didn't know what it meant, not until he came."

She indicated Little John with her eyes, then returned her glance to the tip of the sword, trembling visibly.

"Get out of our camp," Much said, jabbing his sword first at Quenilda and then at Guy. "Get out, both of you, and take your dragon with you!"

Guy turned to do exactly that, but Hood's arrow landed in the doorpost exactly at eye level, a mere foot in front of his nose, and Quenilda cried out. Shocked, Guy raised his hands again in surrender and turned back. Hood had already drawn a new arrow and set it to the string, but instead of shooting, he looked over at Quenilda. "What else do you know about the dragon?"

Quenilda was staring wide-eyed and frightened at the arrow quivering reproachfully in the doorpost. It took a while before she could drag her eyes away to look at Hood, and even longer before she finally said, "I don't – I don't know much that will help."

"Tell me."

"It burned the manor house because it expected Sir Guy to be there, and it was angry that he wasn't. It also flamed the keep in Throxenby for the same reason, but that didn't hurt anybody, because the keep is made of stone." Quenilda was silent for a moment, staring into the distance and seeing something else besides the camp. "I saw that it hatched … out of the body of the other dragon. It was inside an egg, inside the body, still alive, even though the mother dragon was dead. When it hatched, it ate everything; the eggshells, the body, even the bones."

"Dragon lay eggs?" Much asked. "Like ducks?"

Quenilda nodded, and Guy shuddered inwardly at the thought of an entire family of dragons flaming across the sky.

"So … this is a baby dragon?" Hood asked.

"Yes," Quenilda agreed reluctantly. "But they grow quickly. It must be almost as large as its dam now."

"And as dangerous?"

Quenilda's face expressed frustration over the fact that she just didn't know, and she said, "Yes. All dragons are dangerous."

"Did you see anything else?" Guy asked, willing her to say that she'd seen it being defeated, that it could be defeated, but hoping, also, that she wouldn't say that _he_ had to be the one to defeat it.

"It wasn't in the forest," Quenilda remembered. "I don't think it can come down between the trees, its wingspan would be too big. It was in the open. Near a building of some kind, though."

"Could be anywhere," Allan said with a shrug.

"Well, if it can't land in the forest, it probably can't land inside Nottingham, either," Hood mused. "But if it's looking for Gisborne and doesn't find him, what's to stop it from setting the forest on fire – or any other town or village where Gisborne's ever set foot? I can't imagine the Sheriff letting everybody take shelter in the castle. This'll just mean more destruction, more innocent people getting killed. Right, everybody, get your weapons, let's go."

"Go?" asked Much. "Robin, you're not going anywhere. What about your leg, especially now that Aldith is dead? Quenilda said she had herbs, she said she could help. Look at you! You can hardly stand, let alone fight. You're not well! We – the rest of us – will go and you can stay here and let Quenilda take care of you."

"Lady Quenilda said she'd only help you if you let me go free," Guy broke in. "She won't help you if you're planning to tie me hand and foot and use me as bait for the dragon, then kill it while it's eating me."

Quenilda gasped, and Guy realized she'd never thought of that possibility. How could somebody who was so knowing in some ways be so trusting and so innocent in other ways?

"That actually sounds like a good plan to me," Much murmured.

"No, you can't do that!" Quenilda pleaded. "You can't – you must let Sir Guy at least have a fighting chance! He killed the other dragon – he can kill this one!"

"Can he?" Hood asked, and then quite suddenly, he lowered his bow and collapsed backwards onto the stool where he'd been sitting before. Much gasped in dismay, but when Guy started to lower his hands, he swivelled back and pointed his sword in Guy's direction. Little John moved to block the exit from the camp, raising his staff, and even Allan put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Yes," Quenilda stated. "He can. He will. And if he doesn't, then –"

"Then what?" Hood asked dully. "Then the dragon kills him?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Hood?" Guy sneered.

"I'd like for my people to be safe," Hood said, sounding weary. "Tell me, Quenilda, if it does kill Gisborne, will it go away again after that? Go back to where it came from, and stop threatening us?"

Quenilda bit her lip, then shook her head. "No. It won't. It has to be killed. Sir Guy has already killed one dragon, he knows how to do it! I saw – I saw a flaming arrow fly towards it, and that's how Sir Guy brought the other one down, with fire."

Hood snorted mirthlessly. "Gisborne's such a terrible shot, he couldn't hit the broad side of a barn unless he was aiming at the house next to it."

"Well, I'll just aim for you, then, shall I, and kill the dragon by accident!" Guy snapped, and saw Allan grin.

"I was going to say, if the dragon kills Sir Guy, then you will have your revenge on him," Quenilda said quietly, bringing the bickering to an end. "But it won't."

"Please, Robin," Much urged. "Take her offer! I know you want revenge, but what good is killing Gisborne going to do if you get gangrene or blood poisoning in your leg and it kills you? I would want revenge for your death, but I cannot take revenge on gangrene!"

Hood smiled a little at his man's impassioned speech.

"Lady Quenilda's offer also means you don't shoot me in the back, either, after I've killed the dragon," Guy put in swiftly.

Sighing, Hood said, "All right. I'll put aside my thoughts of revenge, Gisborne, for one day, if you'll do the same. You've got until sundown to-morrow to kill the dragon, and after that, my men and I are free to shoot at you again. And the same goes for you trying to kill or capture us. In the meantime, I'll let Lady Quenilda look at my leg, then I'll take her to Nottingham myself. Have we got a deal?"

He extended one hand, and after a moment, because Quenilda was looking enthusiastically at him, Guy stepped forward to take it. "Deal."

They shook, then let go as soon as possible, and Hood, said, "Allan, have we got a spare sword for Gisborne? John, you can give him Djaq's old bow, too; he might just need it."

"I've got a sword, it's on the horse outside," Guy said, and Hood commanded, "Get it for him."

Allan darted towards the opening, while John turned towards one of the storage areas by the bunks, and Hood sighed again. "Allan, John, Much, I know this is asking a lot, especially since I can't be with you, but go with Gisborne and give him any help he needs. The sooner we get this dragon killed, the sooner we can get back to normal."

"You mean normal like revenge?" Guy asked, and Hood flashed his quick smile again. "Yeah, something like that."

Allan returned with Guy's sword belt and held it out. Taking it, Guy was reminded of the time when Allan had worked for him. Allan must have been reminded of it, too, because he lowered his eyes from Guy's gaze, a faintly embarrassed look on his face, and stepped back. Guy buckled the belt around his waist, then held his hand out to Much in silent entreaty for his dagger. It took Much a moment to realize what he wanted, and then he handed it over grudgingly. Little John had the same expression of disapproval as he extended a bow and a quiver of arrows. When Guy had secured them on his back, the man produced a length of cord and said simply, "Hands."

Guy sighed, but let him tie them together in front, while Much took the blindfold and tied it around his eyes from the back.

"We'll leave the horse for you, Robin," Much said, but if Hood answered with anything more than a nod, Guy didn't hear it.

"I will pray for your success, Sir Guy," Quenilda said, and Guy turned his head in her direction. "Thank you, my lady."

Then the outlaws guided him out of the camp and back into the cold, windy forest.

xxxxx

Quenilda let her gaze linger on Sir Guy's back as he walked away. She'd been frightened before, recognizing the scene from her dream, but everything had turned out differently than she'd expected. She'd expected Robin Hood to shoot at some point, but that point had come as such a surprise, and had happened so quickly, that she wouldn't have been able to prevent him if she'd wanted to. Not to mention the fact that the arrow had gone by so close that its wind had rushed across the side of her face and ruffled her hair. Staring at it, she'd realized that if she'd moved at the right moment, it would have gone directly through her eye, and the thought had left her shivering with more than cold. Sir Guy had been shocked, too, she could tell, and she thanked God that Robin Hood had only shot as a warning, not to kill.

Well, there was no time to consider the matter further. She'd offered her assistance to the outlaw, and now that Sir Guy was safe, she had to do her duty. Turning to Robin Hood, she said, "It would be easier for me to look at your leg if you could lift it up. Do you have another stool, or perhaps you would like to lay down on one of these beds?"

Slowly, painfully, Robin stood up and hobbled over to the nearest bed. After he'd eased himself down onto it, Quenilda wrestled his boot from his foot and rolled up his trouser leg.

"What happened?" Quenilda asked as she probed the wound just below his knee. Somebody had had a rough go at stitching it up, and it didn't look good in any sense of the word.

"Can't you use your second sight to find out?" Robin asked through gritted teeth as she tested the surrounding tissue. His skin was hot, infection was setting in, and she suspected that only his determination was keeping him upright.

"A sword cut," she guessed. "While you were out … ambushing somebody?"

"In the castle, actually," he corrected her. "But yeah, a sword cut."

As she removed her supply of herbs from the bag and sorted them out on the bed next to him, he asked, "Did you know your father's been looking for you?"

"Your men mentioned it on the way," Quenilda said, picking out the things she needed and putting the rest back. "Did the messenger really say that the Earl was coming to Nottingham?"

"He should be there already," Robin replied. "Or by sundown at the latest."

"Well, then. Let's see what I can do to help you. I'm afraid I have no poppy juice to help you sleep through the pain, but I can give you something else."

"I wouldn't want to sleep anyway," Robin said. "I still have to get you back to your father. By the way, I met him once, before the Crusades. And I knew his brother Alfred, out in the Holy Land. He sailed for home before I did – do you know if he is still alive?"

"He is married now, and doing quite well," Quenilda said. "He and Aunt Maud have three children and another on the way in the new year."

"I didn't think he'd been home that long," Robin said, surprised, and Quenilda smiled again, but didn't answer. Once she'd overheard her father laughingly complaining that Alfred had it too good, spending all his time in bed, but she wasn't about to repeat that, even to an outlaw. It wasn't even true, anyway, as Uncle Alfred did get up as much as he could.

Eventually, she'd done all that she could do for the wound at that time. She'd also made an extra poultice for Robin to apply the next day, and a large batch of herbal drink to help fight pain, fever, and infection from inside the body. Watching as Robin finished his first dose of the drink, made a face, then collapsed back onto the bed, Quenilda said, "You should rest, let your body heal while you're asleep. If you'll just tell me the way to Nottingham, I'm sure I can find it on my own."

Robin propped himself up on one elbow. "And let you give that information to Gisborne? By all respect for your father, my lady, I don't think so. I'll trust you to give me a hand here, but I won't trust Gisborne not to wheedle the location of our camp out of you somehow."

Quenilda helped him stand and balance while he armed himself, not only with his famous bow and arrows, but also with a sword. Allowing him to lean on her shoulder, Quenilda also helped him hobble out of the camp and gave him a leg up onto the horse. He sat there for a moment with a pained expression on his face, gritting his teeth and breathing out very slowly, then reached down his hand. "Put your foot on mine and I'll pull you up behind me."

To do that, Quenilda had to hitch her skirts above her knees again, but unlike Allan, Robin didn't ogle her bare legs as she lifted her left foot and placed it in the stirrup on top of his. Then she took his hand and swung herself up onto the back of the horse, behind the saddle. Although she tried hard not to knock his injured leg, there was just barely enough space between it and the saddle bags for her own leg, and Robin grunted in discomfort as she settled in. When she was finished, he passed something back over his shoulder. "Put this on, then put your arms around me."

Once Quenilda had blindfolded herself, she leaned forward and clasped Robin around the middle, thinking how much Isolda would envy her this position. If she were honest with herself, however, she knew she'd much rather be clutching Sir Guy like this, especially when the horse took its first step and she lurched forwards, involuntarily tightening her grip. She remembered how Sir Guy hadn't turned away from her in the wagon, and how he'd looked at her after she had spoken to Robin about his pain and regret. He hadn't rejected her outright either time.

Now all Sir Guy had to do was slay this dragon and then, perhaps …

Xxxxx

**vivalarevolution**: Welcome back and thank you for those wonderful words of praise!

**Historianic**: Well, thank you! I'm flattered that you should think prefer Quenilda to Marian and think I should have been writing for the show. It definitely would have gone in a different direction if I had, though! Grin! And thank you, too, for telling me that my characterization of Guy is realistic and true. That's what I'm striving for – I hope I can keep up the good work in the next chapters. Please don't hesitate to tell me if I've faltered somewhere. Guy's subconscious is definitely ahead of his conscious mind, but I think things will even out soon enough. Thank you so much for your reviews; I look forward to them and enjoy them immensely.

**BeanieSGirl**: Yes, Robin and his gang are the traditional good guys, and I am trying to be fair to them while still showing the enmity between them and Guy. Thanks for noticing!

**GizzysGirl**: I hope this chapter lived up to your wishes! Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Well, hello, H**otchPotchMiss**, and welcome! I'm very flattered that you read the whole thing and that you're addicted now. I did try not to make the second sight too powerful, and I'm glad you like Quenilda, too. I will be updating every Monday until the story's finished.

**Rinter**: Are there many chapters left? Five or six, I think, depending on how I divide up the text. Let's say six. I usually write the entire story before I post, so that I know I can update regularly, but in this case, I'm still working on the ending. Still, I'm far enough ahead that I shouldn't have any delays. I'm pleased you're still reading and reviewing. Thank you.

**WintherRose**: Thank you for giving me a try, and I'm so glad you're enjoying it.

**Cindy4806**: Thank you, I'm very flattered that you think this would have made a good episode! I wasn't sure if it's physically possible for Quenilda to drag an unconscious man from the wagon and drape him over a horse, so I didn't exactly describe it in detail, and if I were directing the show, there would just be a cut from Quenilda lifting him up to having him draped over the animal. But she had to get him out somehow! Hope you didn't suffer from the suspense too much, and that this chapter didn't let you down. Thanks for reviewing!

**LadyKate1**: Yeah, I'll admit it, I love it when Guy gets tied up. It's my shameful secret – well, perhaps it's not a secret so much any more now that I've put it into my fics. Thanks for reading and commenting!

And thank you to everybody else who's read so far! I really do appreciate all my lurkers.


	10. Chapter 10

Please tell me if you think this section is too boring, too long, too repetetive, or whatever.

xxxxx

The outlaws didn't remove the blindfold and cut through the cord around Guy's wrists until they had left the cover of the forest and were approaching Locksley. He smelled the smoke first, and heard the low roar of the great fire, and as soon as he could see again, Guy looked over to the remains of his manor house. The roof and the first storey had collapsed, but everything was still burning. Normally, if there were a fire in the village, everybody would form a human chain, hauling full buckets of water from the pond in an attempt to put it out, but there was no such chain here. There weren't even any villagers. Guy wondered if they were hiding in their cottages, or if they had all fled somewhere else when the dragon had come.

"So, where is it?" Allan asked, looking around the village and then at Little John. The bigger man shrugged.

"It could have flown to Nottingham," Much suggested, glancing warily around as well. "We'd better look there."

"We'll need pitch," Guy said, striding towards the workshop in the village where he knew they kept at least one barrel of the stuff. "We have to get it onto the wings, they burn incredibly fast."

"Wait a minute," Allan said, following him. "How exactly are you planning to get the pitch onto the dragon wings? I mean, the thing can fly! It'd be like trying to catch a hawk!"

"We'll throw it, Allan," Guy said. "We'll just throw it."

"Well, yeah, but it'd have to be pretty close for you to hit—" Allan's sentence was interrupted by Much calling out suddenly, "There! Look!"

Guy turned for a quick glimpse of the dragon gliding above the road that led to Nottingham, then dashed into the workshop. Had it seen him? Had it _smelled_ him? What if it flamed the building while he was inside? Allan burst in behind him, then held the door open a crack and peered out. "Giz! That thing is huge!"

Guy gritted his teeth at being called "Giz," but there was no time to remonstrate with Allan. He'd found the barrel of pitch, and now he dipped a bucket in, filling it about three quarters of the way, then thrust it at the outlaw. "Here!"

"Me?" Allan squawked in alarm. "You want me to throw it?"

"Take it!" Guy thundered, and Allan obeyed. Guy filled another bucket, then joined Allan at the door. "Where did it go?"

"Dunno," Allan said. "I was making sure Much was all right!"

Rolling his eyes, Guy pushed past him and carefully exited the workshop, carefully scanning the sky for any sign of the dragon. Movement behind one of the nearby cottages caught his eye, and he could see Much and Little John crouching against the wall, bows drawn and arrows aimed heavenwards. Because he could not see the dragon anywhere, Guy decided to take a risk, and ran the short distance from the workshop to the cottage, flattening himself against the wall next to Little John. The outlaw gave him a scathing look, no doubt annoyed at having the dragon's main target standing so close, then returned his gaze to the sky.

"There!" cried Allan. He'd stayed in the workshop, but now he pointed over the roof of the cottage where they huddled. Both Much and Little John stepped away from the wall to take aim, and Guy moved a little to one side, waiting for the underside of the dragon to become visible above him. It flew over, and at the same time as the outlaws shot, Guy flung the contents of the bucket into the air. But the dragon was too high and the pitch fell uselessly to the ground. A moment later, the arrows fell as well, not having been able to pierce the dragon's scales.

"Unbelievable!" Much spluttered. "Did you see that! They just bounced off!"

"That's why we need the pitch!" Guy exclaimed.

"Well, yes, but you didn't tell us that!" the outlaw protested. Guy didn't see the need to answer. He'd given his word not to kill the outlaws, but if they happened to get in the way of the dragon, well, that was too bad.

"'S'comin' again!" Allan shouted. They all looked up, then scrambled to get out of the way as the dragon shot straight for them and opened its mouth threateningly. Guy dashed around the other side of the cottage, but heard the rush of flames and felt the heat as the dragon breathed fire onto the roof. As wet as the thatch was from the earlier rain, it still started to burn, and Guy sprinted for the dubious safety of another cottage. The outlaws, he saw, had raced in the other direction, towards the workshop and the supply of pitch.

He looked down. His bucket still had some pitch left in the bottom and up one side. Glancing around for signs of the dragon, Guy darted back to the burning roof and thrust the bucket to the flames. Just as it caught fire, however, he heard Allan shout a warning, and whirled to see the dragon coming from the direction of the other cottage. Guy threw the bucket at its head, then dove away from the oncoming flames that spewed from its mouth. He landed awkwardly on his side; the bow and quiver he wore on his back had kept him from rolling further. Hastily, he got to his hands and knees, then launched himself into a sprint for the workshop.

Much was standing just outside the workshop door with his bucket, staring alternately up at the sky and down at the puddle of pitch that had come from his attempt to hit the dragon. Guy pushed past him into the interior. "Either we need to get higher or we need to get the dragon lower!"

"How?" Little John demanded, looking dubious, and Allan said slowly, "Up on one of the roofs, I guess."

Guy hadn't known the answer until Allan had said it, but he recognized a good plan when he heard one. "Yes, the roofs!"

Above them, there was the flap of mighty wings and the roar of fire, and Little John, looking up, cried out, "Not this roof!"

Guy took the chance to grab another bucket and dip it in the pitch barrel, then made his escape before the burning thatch fell into the building and set everything else on fire, too. The other outlaws had scattered, hugging the walls of three different cottages.

"If you keep this up, you'll burn down the entire village!" Much shouted at him, and as Guy found his own shelter, he shouted back, "I don't care about the village!"

"We know!" Little John stated, his voice dripping with disgust. Guy ignored him and glanced around, looking for – and swiftly finding – a suitable roof. "Allan! The church! Get up on top of the church!"

Allan took a glance at the church from around the corner of the cottage where he was hiding, then looked back at Guy, his eyes big in his unusually solemn face. "Guy … I'm not very good with heights."

"Much! John! Get up on the roof of the church!" Guy ordered, then quickly glanced up at the sky. He'd have to lead the dragon close alongside so that they could throw the pitch onto it, but first, they had to have time to scramble up and get their buckets up as well. Where was the dragon now? He couldn't see it from where he was standing.

"Rope!" Much suddenly called out, and dashed over to where one lay conveniently curled near the doorway of a nearby cottage. Guy watched until a shadow loomed up from behind that cottage – a shadow with wings and a long neck, and a burst of fire that was aimed, not at Much or the other outlaws, but straight at _him_! Cursing his lack of attention, Guy dived away, narrowly escaping the flames that instantly engulfed the wall where he'd been standing.

He ran, dodging from one building to the next, until he was on the outskirts of the village and could see the dragon in the sky, turning on one wingtip to fly back the same way it had come. Quenilda's words echoed in his mind, and he wondered if the beast could smell him from there. It certainly seemed to be heading directly for him again, and to make things worse, most of the pitch had slopped out of his bucket while he'd made his escape. Quickly, Guy turned towards the church, but couldn't see any outlaws scaling the walls. He'd have to keep dodging until they were in position. Checking hastily on the dragon again, he saw Much running towards the beast, his bow drawn, with a length of rope dangling from the arrow. As Guy watched, Much shot, and the arrow arched gracefully over the dragon's head towards its back, taking the strangely black rope with it.

Much had poured pitch on the rope – and he'd set the opposite end of it on fire! Guy held his breath, watching as the rope fell diagonally across the dragon's back. He could tell that the beast was irritated by the long dangly thing; the dragon dipped precariously in flight as it fumbled at the rope with its forepaws. The flames were moving rapidly along, but unfortunately for the outlaws, the dragon caught an unburned portion of rope with its claw and pulled it off before the fire could reach its scales.

As the dragon swooped away again, Guy ran over to Much.

"Good plan," he said. "Pity it didn't work."

"Should try something bigger next time," Much panted. "A shirt dipped in pitch, perhaps."

"Or you could just get up on the church roof and throw the pitch at the dragon when it goes by," Guy said.

"Or that," Much said, and then they both stopped, struck by how easily they had fallen into working together and forgetting that they were enemies.

Allan broke the awkward silence. "Come on, I'll give you a leg up, and Guy'll lead the dragon right to you, won't you, Guy?"

"Coming back!" Little John roared, and they all turned to see the dragon bearing down on them yet again.

Guy hid behind the nearest cottage, then came around to one side for a better view of the sky while trying to keep hidden under the eaves. The dragon came in low, and Guy extended one arm, ready to seize the chance and fling his pitch at it. At the last moment, however the dragon turned its head to look directly at him, and Guy just had time to see its mouth open. He ran several steps in the opposite direction in which the dragon was flying, barely missing the column of flames that hit the thatch exactly where he'd been standing, and threw the entire bucket at the dragon's tail. To his surprise, it hit, but fell off again without splattering even so much as a drop of the pitch on the dragon's hide.

As the dragon flew off, Guy stayed where he was, and glanced around to see what the others were doing. He was both surprised and pleased to see that Little John had found a ladder somewhere, and was leaning it against the side of the church. Considering his position and where the dragon was in the sky, Guy ran to another cottage that was closer to the church, then waited. Little John had got up onto the roof by then and was sitting astride it by the bell tower; Guy presumed he was holding a bucket of pitch, but he couldn't see it from where he was. Near the ladder, on the ground, Much and Allan appeared to be working on Much's plan of wanting to shoot pitch-soaked clothes at the dragon.

Keeping a careful eye on the dragon, Guy waited. It descended towards him, and when he judged it was close enough, he sprinted towards the church, trying to lead the beast into the trap without getting himself flamed. Hearing Little John give a mighty shout, Guy shot past Much and Allan and saw them raise their bows as the dragon followed. Instead of taking shelter behind the church, though, Guy turned abruptly at a right angle away from the structure, changing direction so fast that he almost fell. Regaining his balance, he continued running, and the dragon's flames hit the ground where his boot had just been.

Hiding close to one of the cottages with a burning roof, Guy glanced back. Much and Allan were just disappearing behind the other side of the church. The ladder had fallen over, and there was no sign of Little John on the roof. Realizing that he must have fallen off, Guy felt his heart sink at the sudden lack of support until he reminded himself that the man was an outlaw, and he should hope that he'd broken his neck. Guy turned away and looked for the dragon instead, wondering if Little John had managed to get some pitch onto it before he'd fallen. It came at him, as usual, but before he had to run, he managed to see that there were indeed some darker patches on its back and one wing.

Encouraged, Guy pulled the bow from his back, and plucked one of the arrows from the quiver. He wasn't as used to archery as he was to swordfighting, but neither was he as bad as Hood had made out. The biggest problem would be having time to aim as the dragon came at him – maybe he should get the two remaining outlaws to do the shooting. In its quest to kill Guy, the dragon had ignored them up until now, and might not even notice their attack until it was too late. With a plan forming in his mind, Guy made a dash for the other side of the church.

He was astonished not to find anybody there, and glanced around, but before he'd had time to properly wonder what had happened, he'd already spotted them. Little John had survived the fall, but could no longer walk; Much and Allan were carrying him between them as they jogged to the dubious shelter of a few trees a little way from the village. Although Guy could see the sense in getting the injured man away from where the dragon was most likely to roast him by accident, he still felt anger pulse through him at even this temporary abandonment. He'd just have to take care of the dragon by himself, then!

Dipping all of his arrowheads into one of the puddles of pitch by the church, Guy ran to the nearest source of fire and set one arrow alight, then took aim at the dragon. The shot missed, bouncing harmlessly off the dragon's neck, and Guy had to run for safety, but he stopped as soon as he could, and tried again. And again. By the time he was down to his last arrow, he was gritting his teeth in silent frustration and almost – _almost _– wishing that Hood were there to pull off one of his miracles.

The distant whinny of a horse caught Guy's attention, and he glanced in the direction of the sound. As though he'd heard Guy's thoughts, Hood had come, riding on their horse, with Quenilda behind him, sitting on Guy's saddlebags. She had a strip of cloth over her eyes, but even as Guy watched, Hood turned to speak to her, and she reached up to pull off the blindfold. After giving the village a quick glance, she pointed in the direction of the trees, and the horse moved in that direction.

The dragon appeared again on the horizon, coming in directly over the trees where the outlaws huddled, and Hood's horse reared up in panic, dumping both riders on the ground. Lingering just long enough to see Quenilda start to get up, Guy held his last arrow to the flame and set it to the bowstring, then ran out into the dragon's path and shot. The dragon's upsweeping wing hit the arrow in mid-flight, and fire exploded at the point of contact, shooting across the wing until it was burning from joint to edge. Laughing out loud at his success, Guy ducked and ran at an angle perpendicular to the dragon's flight. He'd done it. He'd set the dragon on fire, _he_, Guy of Gisborne, not Robin Hood!

Howling in pain, the dragon crashed into one of the few untouched cottages. The force of its momentum smashed the structure to the ground, and then the wreckage shook and fell away as the dragon tried to free itself. Guy dodged around the various other cottages until he came upon the bucket he'd flung earlier at the dragon, the one with a little pitch still left inside, and snatched it up, then made his way back to where the dragon was. The beast struggled awkwardly away from the last of the debris, but it was now limping, using three legs instead of four. Setting the pitch alight, Guy lobbed the bucket at the dragon's other wing, and saw the flames dance across the dark green skin, consuming it as the dragon screeched. Its long neck whipped back and forth, and it caught sight of Guy – or perhaps caught his scent. Despite its lack of wings and one leg, it lumbered angrily in his direction.

Guy ran, making three left turns around the fiery remains of a nearest cottage, and ended up behind the dragon. Its tail was lashing furiously from side to side as it moved, and he watched, trying to find a way to get close enough to run his sword into the beast without being killed. He'd been lucky with the other dragon, he realized, with it breaking two legs in its fall and not being able to chase after him. This younger beast was proving much more of a challenge. As Guy watched, a flaming arrow came down out of the sky and set one of the black splotches on the dragon's back on fire before skidding off again. Guy didn't even have to look to know that Hood was the one who'd shot that arrow. Arching its neck backwards at an angle impossible for humans in order to see the cause of its newest torment, the dragon caught a whiff of Guy, and turned itself awkwardly around to take up the hunt again.

As he ran, Guy caught sight of the ladder still leaning up against the church. If the dragon could attack him from above, he thought, he could do the same. Altering his course slightly, he glanced back to see where the dragon was, then grabbed the ladder and doubled back. There was one single cottage in Locksley left untouched, and fortunately for Guy, it was right between him and the dragon. He made sure the dragon could see him as he ran back, and lured it closer and closer to the cottage. At the last moment, he ran around the corner, leaned the ladder against the structure, shot up the rungs, drew his sword, then slid down the thatch on the opposite side.

He landed on the dragon's back and wobbled once to regain his balance, then thrust his sword into one of the charred spots where the fire had burned away the dragon's scales. It roared in pain, rearing up like a horse, and he lost his footing, but kept his grip on the sword. When the dragon came down again, he was sprawled more or less astride it, but sliding precariously to one side as it collapsed onto the ground. A flaming arrow landed to the left of his arm, and he glanced up in alarm, wondering just which one of them Hood was trying to kill.

"Sorry!" Much shouted by way of apology, then dropped his bow and drew his sword to battle the dragon's head. Freeing his own blade, Guy saw another black spot just where the dragon's neck grew out of its back, and plunged the sword in, twisting it as much as he could. The fire that had been aimed at Much died at the halfway point, and the dragon's head and neck flopped bonelessly to the ground. It did not move again.

Removing his sword, Guy slid off the carcass and staggered away from it, only to hear Much say, "You're on fire."

Glancing down to where Much was indicating, Guy saw that one of his trouser legs was burning. He beat at it ineffectually with one hand, then dropped his sword and fell to his knees in the mud, rolling onto his side to suffocate the flames. When he got up again, Quenilda was running towards him, a huge grin on her face.

"I knew you could kill it, Sir Guy!" she exclaimed when she got closer. "I just knew it!"

Guy resisted the temptation to wrap his arms around her and twirl her around in a victorious hug. Instead, he asked, "How could you not know, if you saw it in your dream?"

Quenilda's smile disappeared, which surprised Guy, and she shook her head. "I didn't see it."

It was Much who exclaimed, "You mean you lied? You don't have the second sight?"

"I do have the second sight," Quenilda said, "and I truly did have a dream about this dragon, how it hatched, how it ate the other dragon, and how it was searching for Sir Guy. But I didn't see the part where it was killed. I just had faith that Sir Guy could do it."

"Well, he did have a little help," Much protested. "Quite a lot of help, actually."

Quenilda's faith touched something inside Guy. An unaccustomed feeling of warmth radiated from his heart throughout his chest, even up into his head, and he couldn't help grinning.

"Of course you helped," Quenilda was saying to Much, "and I thank you for it."

Guy leaned down to pick up his sword again, but only the hilt came up. Giving the blade a slight kick, Guy watched as it crumbled, and heard Much's gasp of surprise.

"The dragon's blood burns through the steel like fire," Quenilda explained. "Did you get any of it on you, Sir Guy? Much?"

Much shook his head, and feeling the pain of his burn for the first time, Guy replied, "Not its blood, no."

He glanced around, saw that the well was untouched, and strode over to draw up a bucket full. The water reminded him that he was thirsty, and he drank deeply with a sigh of satisfaction before pouring the rest over his lower leg.

"Sir Guy, you're hurt! Let me see!" Quenilda folded back the charred remnants of his trousers and revealed the already blistering flesh. "Pour some more water on it. I think I have an ointment here for burns."

As Guy lowered the bucket into the well again, Quenilda poked through the bag she wore close to her waist, and finally found a small container. "Yes, here it is. Now let me clean it first. Oh, how I wish I had some water from the healing spring!"

"This tastes better," Guy said, pulling the bucket up and taking another drink, then extending it to her. Quenilda dipped the rag that had been her blindfold into the bucket and used it to carefully cleanse the entire area. Finally, she put her fingers into the pot that held the salve and massaged a generous amount into the burn. "I'm sorry if this hurts. It will help."

When she'd finished, she straightened up, and Guy saw her wince a little. "My lady, are you hurt?"

"I fell from the horse and bruised my dignity," she replied with a little smile, patting her own behind. "Are you hurt anywhere else, Sir Guy?"

"No," he said. "It didn't bite me this time."

"Much?" Quenilda asked, turning to the outlaw who had followed them to the well. "Is anybody else hurt?"

"Only John, he fell off the roof of the church and broke his ankle," Much replied.

"I'll go splint it," Quenilda decided, but Guy caught her arm. "No. Leave him."

Quenilda glanced up at him in confusion, and Guy said, "The deal was that you take care of Hood, and only Hood. Now, I'll take you to Nottingham."

"But –" Quenilda protested, and when she tried to pull away, Guy gripped her arm harder. She stopped struggling and looked from his hand directly into his eyes. "Sir Guy, you are hurting me. Please let go."

Surprised at the calm trust he could see in her eyes, Guy released her, then glanced over at the outlaws. "He doesn't need your help anyway, see?"

Somehow, the outlaws had caught the horse again despite its panicked escape, and now both Hood and Little John were riding it. Allan walked at their side, and he grinned as they approached. "Giz! You really killed it!"

"Congratulations, Gisborne," Hood said, sounding slightly sour. Much coughed significantly, and Hood went on, "Of course you couldn't have done it without the help of my men, but still, it's dead now."

Guy smirked a little and nodded acknowledgement.

"Here, give us that bucket, I'm parched," Allan said, reaching out a hand to Quenilda.

Quenilda tossed away what was already in the bucket, and when Allan looked surprised, she said, "It was dirty." Then she went to the well herself and drew up fresh water, which she extended to him with a smile.

Allan swallowed several times, then stopped suddenly with a splutter that made them all turn to look at him. Handing the bucket up to Little John, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and exclaimed, "Oi, Robin, speaking of drinking, I think I know how that rumour came about, the one about the fifty pounds for Gisborne!"

"How?" Hood asked.

"You remember when we were in one of the alehouses in Nottingham, waiting for infor—having a drink a couple weeks ago, just after Guy disappeared? And how it got later and later and you drank more and more, and then you saw the innkeeper's daughter and thought, just for a moment, that it was Marian?"

"I don't remember," Hood said, although Guy guessed from the expression on his face that he really did, and wished he didn't.

"Well, the innkeeper got mad, and you got mad too, and you shouted that you'd give five pounds to the man who brought you Gisborne alive, so that you could kill him for what he did to Marian," Allan finished. "And you know what happens when people talk – they exaggerate things!"

Taking the bucket from Little John, Much said, "Five pounds could easily have become fifteen pounds, and then fifty."

Hood shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah, it's possible, but it doesn't mean I really meant it, especially if I was drunk."

"Would you have given those men a reward, if they'd brought Sir Guy to you, even if you hadn't meant it?" Quenilda asked curiously.

"I dunno," Hood said, but when he caught Guy's smirk, he quickly added, "I might have!"

Guy waited for Quenilda to ask if Hood really would have killed him, but she didn't, and he found that he didn't want to ask, either. He was sure he didn't need to. But instead of pursuing the topic, Quenilda glanced up at the sky and said, "It will be full dark soon. How far is it from here to Nottingham?"

Guy blinked, realizing that the sun had set in the meantime and they were now close to speaking solely by the light of the burning cottages. "A couple of miles. My lady, we should go, before they lock the gates for the night."

"I'll make us a torch, Robin," Allan said. "We don't want the horse to fall and break John's other leg."

"Could you make one for us, too?" Quenilda asked, and Allan grinned, both at her and at Little John's sour look, then ran off.

Seeing that they were finally about to part company with the outlaws, Guy heaved a mental sigh of relief, then held out one hand. "My saddlebags, Hood."

"Hang on, let's see what's in there," Hood said, and Much replied, "There's plenty of money, Robin. Gisborne seems to have made a new fortune in Throxenby."

"Did he?" Hood asked. Guy put his hand to where the hilt of his sword would have been if he'd still had one, then stopped, remembering how the dragon's blood had eaten it away. In the meantime, Little John had opened the flap of one of the saddlebags and was now hefting one of Guy's money bags, showing Hood the coins that Guy had collected from the thankful citizens of Throxenby.

"You know, I think there's just enough here to pay for the rebuilding of Locksley!" Hood said with the kind of grin that made Guy want to smash his fist into the man's mouth. "But you can have the horse back, Gisborne – to-morrow!"

"Hood!" Guy roared angrily, and pulled his dagger, but it was too late, Hood had already turned the horse and was gallopping away. Seething, Guy turned back and saw Allan approaching with a makeshift torch in each hand. He stomped towards the surprised man, causing Allan to rear back and prepare to defend himself with the fire, then saw Much reaching for his sword. Outnumbered and frustrated, Guy thrust his dagger back into his belt, then snatched one of the torches from Allan's grip. As the men relaxed, Guy stomped back over to where Quenilda stood and grabbed her by the hand.

"Come on," he growled. "Nottingham is this way."

As they made their way to the road, Quenilda asked, "Will you go after him to-morrow, Sir Guy? After the twenty four hours are over?"

"Yes," he snarled.

"And take your revenge on him?"

"Yes," he snarled again.

"The dragon wanted revenge," Quenilda mused, as though to herself. "It destroyed an entire village, only to be killed at the end."

"It was just a stupid beast," Guy growled.

"Did it want revenge because it was stupid, or did it become stupid because it wanted revenge?" Quenilda asked.

They walked on in silence, and Guy thought about her question the rest of the way.

Xxxxx

**GizzysGirl**: Thank you for that delightful praise. Now that Guy's slain this second dragon, can he and Quenilda get together? Stay tuned for more!

**Historianic**: I always look forward to your comments, thank you so much for writing all that you do. What else can I say except thank you? I'm so pleased that I made you laugh, that you think my characterization is good, and that you're eagerly awaiting the next chapter, which I hope wasn't too boring. Thank you yet again; I've been basking in your praise all week. :D

**Rinter**: I've just finished writing the last scene and the fic is finished! I might change a word here or two, but it's done! And with the natural breaks in the story, there will be four more parts. Thanks for faithfully reading and commenting!

**BeanieSGirl**: I didn't really like Kate, but I didn't loathe, her, either, the way many other fans do. Thank you for liking Quenilda, though; I tried very hard to make her spunky and yet not too powerful.

**Shezan**: Sorry, no, the dragon can't be saved, as you've seen. I hope you enjoy the rest of the story, anyway, and that the character of Guy remains believable.

**Cindy4806**: Oh, yes, Quenilda is definitely showing Guy her true feelings. She didn't get on her horse and ride after him just for the pleasure of being with Osbert, that's for certain! :D As for the dragon eating the sheriff, sorry. But your wish for a happy ending in which brave Sir Guy gets the girl might well come true.

**LadyKate1**: I'm so glad you're getting into the story despite the supernatural element. I think this story came about partly because I was thinking about a crossover between _Primeval_ and _Robin Hood_, with an anomaly opening in Sherwood Forest and a dinosaur coming through. What would the medieval population make of that? Well, if it happened to have wings, they might think it was a dragon. Then I scrapped the Primeval part and just took the dragon. I'm also glad you like my characterizations, as I worry quite a lot about that part of my writing. But I enjoy Much and Allan so much that I just have to give them a few good lines – or at least try to.

Thank you, everybody who's read so far! I appreciate all my lurkers (though of course I love comments, too.)


	11. Chapter 11

All comments are welcome!

xxxxx

Before they had gone halfway, it began to rain. Still holding the torch, Guy had to let go of Quenilda's hand in order to tug up the hood of his cloak. Quenilda adjusted her own hood, then reached out and took Guy's hand again, a gesture that he found surprising, but not entirely displeasing. The further they walked, in fact, the less displeased he became, until he found he was feeling something very close to contentment, or perhaps happiness.

At last, they came to Nottingham, and although the gates were shut, Guy pounded on one with his fist. A metal shutter set in the gate opened inwards and a guard looked out, annoyed at first, then shocked. "My lord! What are _you _doing back here?"

"Where else should I be, after the dragon burnt down my home in Locksley?" Guy asked. "I killed it, by the way. Now open the gate."

The guard opened it. "You killed it? The dragon?"

"Yes, he did!" Quenilda announced as they strode in. "Its body is back in Locksley, you can go see it to-morrow. I'm afraid there's not much left of the village, though. It was a terrible fight."

Their walk to the castle was very much like their walk through Throxenby after killing the first dragon, Guy thought, except that this time, he wasn't on the point of collapse. Everywhere, there were people lining the streets, staring at them and murmuring. Guy realized that most of them were residents – former residents – of Locksley who had fled to the town, huddled wherever they could find some kind of rudimentary shelter. But this time, however, there was no welcoming committee, nobody cheering and clapping in the courtyard of the castle, no minstrel plucking a happy song. There were only guards, reacting to Guy with no less surprise than if he'd come back from the dead.

"Where's the Sheriff?" he demanded of the guard closest to the main door, a man he'd known for years now as a competent, if uninspired fighter.

The man stared at him quizzically for a moment, then replied, "In … the Great Hall." He paused, then added, "M'lord," paused again, then explained, "He has guests."

"The Earl of Throxenby?" Quenilda asked eagerly, and the guard nodded. "Yes, m'lady."

"Right," Guy said, then commanded, "Open the door."

After the man had done so, Guy handed him his torch, and they went in, crossing the corridor to the upper entrance of the Great Hall. The doors here were wide open, and a guard stood at each side; Guy saw the bored looks on their face before they recognized him and their expressions changed instantly. Smirking as they straightened up and tried to present a more disciplined appearance, Guy strode through to the platform at the top of the stairs, and stood for a moment, staring down at the company. Quenilda came up beside him, scanning the faces of the guests, and when Guy heard her little intake of breath, he glanced over to her. At first she smiled in sheer delight, but then the smile faded and was replaced by an anxious expression. Perhaps she wasn't quite certain how her family would react.

Flipping back the side of his cloak, Guy extended one arm to her. She took it with a grateful smile, and they descended the stairs together. As guest after guest noticed their arrival, heads turned and conversation ceased. In the ensuing silence, Quenilda's mother cried her daughter's name, then stood up and flew towards them. They reached the bottom step together, and mother and daughter embraced.

The Earl stood up as well with a broad smile, and made his way over with only slightly less speed. "Sir Guy. Quenilda."

"My lord!" Quenilda exclaimed, trying to curtsey, but the Earl reached out and pulled her into a hug. Watching them, Guy was surprised when the Countess reached over and threw her arms around him. She kissed both his cheeks and he could feel the tears running down her face as she cried, "Sir Guy, thank you, thank you for bringing my daughter back safely."

"My lady –" Guy wondered if he should explain everything there and then, and make her realize that it was as much due to Quenilda as to himself that they'd both got back safely. As soon as the Countess let go, however, the Earl was next, hugging him, slapping him on the back, and even kissing his cheeks as well. "Sir Guy, you have our gratitude yet again."

One of his happy blows landed on a bruise, and Guy tried not to wince. "My lord."

"Quenilda!" Isolda was there as well, and when she'd finished squeezing her sister, she turned to Guy and opened her arms for a quick embrace without even hesitating once. "Sir Guy! Oh, I've never been so glad to see you in my _life_! Thank you for bringing her back!"

She didn't go so far as to kiss him, but turned her attention swiftly back to Quenilda. "Quen, where have you _been_ all this time? Father sent messengers all over the shire, to every village, and even to Robin Hood himself! We came all this way just to find you; we were so worried when the messengers reported that nobody, not even Robin Hood, had seen or heard from you! Mother and Father were almost _frothing_ in panic!"

A servant came up close, one hand extended, and Quenilda took off her cloak and handed it over. Guy quickly did the same with his, and was aware of both the Earl and the Countess scrutinizing their dirty and bedraggled appearance. The Countess' eye especially lingered on Guy's face, taking in the bruises that were not hidden by his three days' growth of beard. When she turned to her daughter, her voice betrayed a slight amount of the panic that Isolda had indicated. "Quenilda, are you well? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No, my lady, I am quite well," Quenilda said, but her mother was gripping her hands and gently touching the rope burns around her wrists. By the end of her sentence, Quenilda's voice had begun to quaver, and Guy watched as she bit her lip, hard, obviously trying not to cry.

"They did not mistreat her badly," Guy announced. "She is only hungry and thirsty and—" he couldn't resist adding—"fatigued."

Quenilda gave him a swift glance, and although she couldn't quite manage a smile to acknowledge his use of the word "fatigued," she nodded in agreement. The Countess led her to the table. "Come, my dear, sit down and eat. You'll feel better afterwards."

The Earl laid a hand on Guy's shoulder, and they waited until servants had brought more chairs and place settings, then sat down as well. Quenilda ended up between the Earl and her grandfather, whom Guy hadn't noticed before, with Guy on Thurstan's other side. Thurstan finished giving his granddaughter a hug, too, then turned to Guy. "I'm so happy that you are both safe and well."

"Thank you," Guy replied. Without waiting for the servants, he reached for his own selection of food from the platters nearest him, and a quick glance to the side showed him that Quenilda was doing the same, although more discreetly.

"Very touching, this family reunion," the Sheriff said from the top of the table. Chewing a piece of meat, Guy looked up at him as he continued, "I must admit, Gisborne, when I heard that you'd vanished, I thought you'd crawled away into the forest to die, or let Hood kill you."

Looking away, Guy noticed the man at the Sheriff's right hand, a man he'd never seen before, even though the other faces around the table were all familiar to him. The man was tall and blond, and because he reminded Guy somewhat of King Richard, Guy found himself disliking him on sight. Noticing the direction of Guy's glare, the Sheriff smiled mirthlessly and said, "You haven't met Sir Edmund of Kimberworth, have you, Gisborne? Once you were gone, I took the liberty of installing him as my new master-at-arms."

Sir Edmund nodded politely, but Guy was too stunned to reciprocate. He'd been replaced? He no longer worked for the Sheriff of Nottingham? After losing his house to the dragon and his remaining fortune to Robin Hood, now he'd lost his position as well? His mouth went dry and he was unable to swallow the now-tasteless meat until he'd taken a big drink of wine.

"So, you're Sir Guy of Gisborne," Sir Edmund drawled. "I've heard all about you from the Sheriff."

He and the Sheriff both smiled the same derisive smile, and Sir Edmund went on, "You know, I think it can't be true that he killed the dragon at Throxenby. I think the young lady there must have done it for him, and they've paid their minstrel to spin us a different story."

Guy's hand tightened on his goblet, and he controlled his impulse to fling his wine into the man's face. If he only had his sword … or could get close enough to use his dagger.

"I thank you for the compliment you obviously meant to bestow on my granddaughter's strength and cunning," Thurstan said, lifting his own goblet in the direction of Sir Edmund with a bland smile. At the comment, the tension in the atmosphere dissipated almost instantly.

"I would thank you as well, Sir Edmund, but you are mistaken," Quenilda replied. She sounded almost calm again, but Guy thought he heard the slightest tremour in her voice. "Sir Guy slew the dragon at Throxenby single-handedly, and he also delivered the killing blow to the dragon at Locksley!"

"The dragon at Locksley?" the Sheriff asked, and Guy smirked at how astounded both men looked. Speaking slowly as though to an idiot, the Sheriff went on. "You killed the dragon at Locksley?"

"I did, yes," Guy replied, letting his voice drip with pride as a way, no matter how obliquely, of getting back at the Sheriff for his loss of position. "You can see its carcase to-morrow if you want."

"It was a terrible battle, my lord," Quenilda said. "Sir Guy was blessed to escape with only one burn."

The Sheriff wrinkled his nose at the mention of blessings in the same context as Guy, but before he or Sir Edmund could speak, Quenilda had turned to her father. "Did you see the dragon, my lord? Did it come here first? It was looking for Sir Guy, for revenge."

"I saw it flame this castle, just like in Throxenby," the Earl affirmed. "You can see the scorch marks on the wall to-morrow, when it's light. But now, my daughter, stop talking and eat up."

"Looking for Sir Guy?" the Sheriff scoffed. "Wanting revenge? You make it sound almost human, girl."

Swallowing hastily, Quenilda said, "Not human, my lord, but I know it wanted revenge on Sir Guy for killing its dam."

"Its dam?" Sir Edmund exclaimed. "You're not telling us that the other dragon was _female_?"

There was a stunned silence in the hall as Quenilda told the story of her dream, stopping only occasionally to drink a little wine. Although he had heard it before, Guy listened respectfully, but also took the opportunity to eat.

"So," the Sheriff said when Quenilda had finally finished. "Saint Guy the Dragonslayer is actually responsible for killing a mother and its baby. Oh, but I forgot. You're not a saint, are you, Gisborne?"

"I've never claimed to be one," Guy said. "And from what I've heard, even the baby, as you call it, ate at least one human."

"Perhaps we should eat some dragon flesh, then," Sir Edmund suggested, and Guy smiled the false smile he'd perfected under the Sheriff's rule. Before he could invite the man to do just that, however, Quenilda spoke up again. "You cannot, my lord. Its blood eats away metal like rust – Sir Guy has lost two swords to it already. And even if you were able to cut it up somehow, it would surely kill you from the inside out."

Sir Edmund looked down at his plate with a slightly sickened expression, and Guy groaned inwardly at the lost chance. On the other side of the table, Isolda asked quietly, "Dragons lay eggs? Like chickens?"

"That's what Much said," Quenilda answered with a little smile. "Except he said ducks."

"Much?" Isolda's face lit up at the name. "You don't mean Robin Hood's Much?"

Guy felt himself tense and hoped that the Sheriff hadn't heard, but his hope was in vain. Even as the Earl quietly told Quenilda again to stop talking and eat, the Sheriff had already fixed her with his unrelenting gaze. "What's this about Robin Hood?"

"We met two of Robin Hood's men on the way, my lord," Quenilda reported. "Much and Allan a Dale."

"They just walked up and introduced themselves to you, did they?" the Sheriff scoffed.

"Did you see Robin Hood himself?" Isolda asked eagerly, her face so bright with anticipation that Guy felt one quick stab of pity for Ivo. She had to wait for her answer, though, as Quenilda was chewing and had to swallow first.

"Yes," she finally said. "We saw Robin Hood." She waited while Isolda squealed audibly with delight, then went on. "After we escaped from Osbert and his men—"

"Osbert?" the Earl asked suddenly. "_Our_ Osbert?"

"Yes, my lord, our Osbert, the father of the first maid to be sacrificed," Quenilda explained, turning back to him. "He was angry with you and I think with me, too, but he took his anger out on Sir Guy, I don't know why."

"Because Sir Guy was convenient," Thurstan said, and Quenilda turned to him in surprise. "Grandfather?"

"Osbert knew he could do what he liked to Sir Guy without your father threatening to hurt him back twice as hard," Thurstan said, and Guy wondered briefly what it would be like to be part of a family that looked out for each other like that. Then Thurstan made an encouraging gesture. "But now I've interrupted your tale, my granddaughter. Do go on."

And after a moment of silent contemplation, Quenilda did. "Osbert was one of the robbers I saw in my dream, the ones who wanted to take Sir Guy to Robin Hood for the reward, but we escaped from them. And then Robin Hood's men found us in the forest and took us to their camp. Robin Hood was there, but he'd been wounded in a swordfight—"

Isolda gasped in dismay, but the Sheriff crowed, "Hah! I knew it!"

Leaning forward, as eager in his own way as Isolda had been in hers, he asked, "Was he full of gangrene? Was he dying?"

"No," Quenilda said simply. "His wound was infected, but it hadn't reached the point of gangrene yet."

The Sheriff sank down in disappointment, Isolda heaved a sigh of relief, and the Earl said, "Quenilda, eat. Sir Guy can tell us more about Osbert."

Quenilda bent obediently to her food, and Guy said, "There's not much to tell. Your guard Osbert had two other men with him. They took me prisoner, and when Lady Quenilda came along, they took her, too."

"Humphrey!" Quenilda suddenly exclaimed, and Guy blinked in surprise, looking around for the servant but not seeing him. Quenilda went on, "He was supposed to be following me, but I never saw him after I left the gate. What happened to him?"

"He fell off his horse and broke his leg," the Earl told her. "Did you know he couldn't ride?"

Quenilda gaped at him with her mouth open, then finally managed to reply. "My lord! I had no idea! Oh no – I could have got him killed! Will he be all right? Will he walk again?"

"Albreda's taking good care of him," the Earl said, "and according to her, he'll live and he won't even limp too badly, just enough that we can finally tell him apart from Godfrey. But you, my daughter, you need to eat, or you won't live to learn your lesson!"

Quenilda's horrified expression remained until the Earl tapped her plate with the tip of his knife, but she had scarcely taken two bites before Isolda asked impatiently, "Tell us, Quen, how did you meet up with Robin Hood? Did he help you escape from Osbert?"

The Countess tried to shush her, but Quenilda was all too ready to start talking again. As she related the story, Guy listened as enthralled as everybody else, finally discovering how he'd been transported far away from Osbert's team only to wake up in the clutches of Hood's men.

"I'm surprised Hood let Gisborne go," the Sheriff remarked. "After what happened in the Holy Land, I would have thought he'd carve Guy up like a roast goose!"

Sir Edmund smirked at that, but nobody else did.

Remembering the arrow in front of his nose, Guy was about to mention the fact that Hood had indeed wanted to kill him, but Quenilda spoke before he could.

"We made a deal," Quenilda said, fingering the pouch she wore at her waist. "Robin Hood would let Sir Guy go free to fight the dragon if I helped care for his wound."

"You made a deal with Robin Hood," the Sheriff stated slowly, in a flat, expressionless tone of voice that Guy knew was only leading up to a very emotional explosion. "And did you keep your end of the bargain? Did you care for his wound?"

"Yes, my lord," Quenilda replied innocently. "And Sir Guy slew the dragon."

The Sheriff stood up, leaning over the table and supporting himself with both hands. He was breathing hard, and his voice became louder and more furious as he continued to speak. "You helped Robin Hood? You helped keep the outlaw alive? You had the chance to poison him, to rid us of this scourge, and you _didn't_? And you, Gisborne—!"

If there hadn't been so many people in the way, Guy thought the Sheriff might have thrown his goblet at him. Instead, he just kept shouting. "You get yourself mixed up with yet another girl and what happens? You're right in Robin Hood's camp, but instead of killing him, you go off to play with a baby dragon instead? You are _incompetent_! You are _useless_! I'm glad you're no longer working for me! I'm glad I took the chance to get a better master-at-arms – anybody would be better than you! _Marian _would have been better than you – at least she had the guts to try and kill me!"

There was a stunned silence in the room, and even the servants had stopped what they were doing in order to see how the Sheriff's guests would react. Guy already knew from long experience that there was no point in trying to defend himself against the Sheriff's tirade, but that didn't keep him from feeling sick with fury and humiliation. He'd slain a dragon – he'd slain _two_ dragons – and the man still raged on about his incompetence, in front of Quenilda and her family no less? He glanced down at his plate, clenching his fingers to keep from battering the Sheriff's face with it.

"Is that the same Sheriff speaking that I heard only a few hours ago, wanting to hide in the dungeons while screaming at his guards to get out there and kill that dragon?" Thurstan asked. His voice was exactly so nonchalant as to turn the Sheriff's expression into one of murderous embarrassment, and Guy almost laughed at loud at how fast the situation had changed.

"My lord Sheriff had that inspection of the cells and the torture chamber on his schedule for weeks!" Sir Edmund replied, doing his best to sound both indignant and honest. Guy looked away, disgusted at how Sir Edmund already knew the ways of making himself indispensable to the Sheriff, and wondered if the Sheriff had already started calling _him_ incompetent, too.

The Sheriff gave his new lieutenant a quick look, then sank back into his chair with a quick smile, obviously going along with the lie in order to save face. "Absolutely right, Edmund. I have to make sure everything's in working order for when we capture Robin Hood, or members of his gang!"

"Of course," the Earl replied easily.

"Or anybody who's been known to consort with outlaws," the Sheriff went on, giving first Guy and then Quenilda a significant glance. Guy stopped eating and put his hand down to his dagger. It would be just like the Sheriff to give the order to have them both arrested and thrown into the very dungeons he'd just mentioned.

"Sometimes we must ally with our enemies in order to defeat a greater threat," the Earl said, and his sentence sounded more like a warning than a simple statement. "There's no shame in that."

"Robin Hood wanted to kill Sir Guy," Quenilda spoke up. "But he was also worried that the dragon might burn down the forest or other places in search of Sir Guy, and that letting it stay alive would mean only more destruction and more innocent people getting killed. He put aside his thoughts of revenge to help save others, and so did Sir Guy."

"How very noble," the Sheriff sneered.

"Yes," the Earl said simply. "It is."

Guy glanced over at him. Their eyes met briefly, and instead of the scorn that he'd seen in the Sheriff's expression, he saw the man nod in acceptance, even respect. It wasn't something he was used to seeing in his direction, and once he'd recovered from his surprise, he realized he enjoyed it, and didn't want the moment of approval to end. But then it was too late; the Earl had already turned back to his daughter. She glanced over her father's shoulder, however, and gave Guy a quick smile that conveyed much more than just approval.

xxxxx

**Historianic**: Thank you! I'm so glad you appreciated the moment between Guy and Much where they were working well together against a common foe. And I'm glad I'm able to show the two different sides of Guy equally well, and that his transformation from the inside out is both visible and believable. I hope I can keep that up. Thanks so much for your wonderful review; I treasure all your words. :D

**GizzysGirl**: Thank you for the "amazing" and that you love this story. (beams happily) You want more Guy/Quenilda love? Well … um … keep reading! (wink)

**BeanieSGirl**: Thank you for thinking my fic is believable and that Guy's characterization is a success, too. (hugs!)

**QueenOfTheDiamondDogs**: Welcome, and thank you for commenting! I'm so glad you gave this a try, and I'm even happier that you love it. I hope you'll stick with it to the end.

**LOVEAUSTEN**: Welcome to you, too! I'll be updating every Monday until the fic is finished – which will be in three weeks, I'm afraid. I'm glad you've enjoyed it so far.

**Cindy4806**: Oh, I don't think Guy was actively trying to kill Much and Little John, as he knew they were useful allies against the dragon, but he wouldn't have been very concerned if they'd been killed by accident. And as for Guy's reaction to Quenilda's question, well, at the risk of revealing too much, I'll say that he does think twice about it. Thanks for reading!

Thank you to everybody who's read!


	12. Chapter 12

Long paragraphs of thought processes can be boring; please tell me if this section dragged or could have used something to break up the monotony. Also, if you have any thoughts on Osbert's character or motivations, don't hesitate to share them with me! I need all the help I can get with creating villains. Thanks!

xxxxx

When the feast was finally over and it was time for bed, Guy discovered that Sir Edmund of Kimberworth had taken over not only his position in the Sheriff's employ, but also Guy's chamber in the castle. Disgruntled, Guy wondered if Sir Edmund had moved into Locksley Manor, too, before the dragon had burned it down. Every other room in the castle was now occupied as well, and Guy ended up on a mattress on the floor beside Thurstan's bed, next to where the servant Godfrey lay. No doubt exhausted by their journey, the two Throxenby men soon dropped off, but Guy had spent so many hours asleep in the last few days that he remained wide awake for a long time. He lay in the darkness, listening to the wind and the rain outside, and thinking of many different things.

It was clear there was no longer any room in Nottingham for him, in more ways than one. Guy had been a fool to think that he could leave and come back again to find everything exactly the same. He himself had certainly changed while he'd been away, and the rest of the world didn't stand still, either. He simply hadn't realized how much could change in such a short time, how fast he could lose his position, his house, his fortune – even the very clothes he'd left Nottingham with. In fact, he had nothing left of his old life except his title and his boots.

Well, he couldn't change his title, nor did he want to, but the thought came that he was free to shed his boots as well, and make a completely new life to go with his new reputation as a dragonslayer.

Free, Guy mused. He was free. He didn't have to stay at the Sheriff's side and accept the abuse the man delighted in heaping upon him. He could move somewhere else, he thought, and find someone else to serve, someone who would appreciate him more. He already knew whom he'd choose, if the Earl would have him. And if the Earl didn't want him, perhaps he could recommend another lord who would. Hadn't the outlaws said something about a brother? Guy wondered how alike they were; some siblings were like chalk and cheese. On the other hand, the Sheriff had had a sister who'd been exactly like him. Remembering her, Guy soon found himself wishing that the Sheriff would meet a similarly unsavoury end, and the sooner the better. But that was no longer his concern. He'd ask to speak to the Earl in the morning, and if his reception was positive, then he'd gather all his courage and ask about Quenilda as well.

Quenilda. She'd managed to escape from Osbert and his men, and she'd taken him with her. Then she'd negotiated with Robin Hood – trying to strike a deal with the outlaw to keep Guy safe even before they'd heard of the dragon. And afterwards, Guy remembered her shamefaced admission that she hadn't actully seen him defeat the dragon, but that she'd simply had faith he could do it. That faith made him feel proud and humble at the same time; proud, that he'd actually been able to live up to her expectations, and humble that she'd envisioned anything so lofty for any man, let alone for him.

Guy remembered Quenilda's smile, the way she'd patted her own backside as though that was where her dignity was located, the concern on her face when she'd seen his burned leg, and later, on the way to Nottingham, the feel of her small hand in his bigger one. And above all, there was the way she'd ridden after him that morning when he'd left Throxenby. She'd been too late to keep him from falling into Osbert's clutches, but she had tried time and again to make his captivity bearable, asking Osbert and his men for food and water for both of them, and pretending she'd had a dream in order to keep them from beating him to death. Guy remembered fondly how noble and determined she'd looked when she'd stood up to Osbert, how ready she'd appeared to take the blows that were meant for Guy, and how tender her voice had sounded close to his ear when, later, she'd confessed that she'd lied about her dream, that she'd only wanted the men to stop hitting him.

She had feelings for him. She had to! Guy hadn't dared ask her why she'd come after him, but surely she wouldn't have done all that she'd done if she didn't feel _something_ for him. And Guy was ready to admit that her tenacity had stirred him, had broken through his defences and conquered his heart. Not that his defences had been very good – it had been a struggle to get them up in the first place, let alone keep them up. Well, they were down now, and would probably always stay that way, at least around Quenilda. Had he been a fool to reject the offer of marriage and ride away from Throxenby? Perhaps. On the other hand, however, if he'd stayed, he would always be wondering if she really liked him, or if she'd simply wedded him out of duty. This way, he could ask her to become his wife without that complication – if her father agreed, of course.

Marriage. Marriage to _Quenilda_. Guy found himself smiling in the darkness, just thinking about it, and tried to remind himself that there was still a chance that she, or her father, would turn him down. He'd misjudged people before, but this time, he'd do it right. He wouldn't rush in or otherwise make a fool of himself. He'd ask once, and then he'd accept the answer and form his plans accordingly.

When morning came, Guy discovered he had slept too late to catch the Earl before breakfast. Not wanting to broach the subject over the meal where everybody could hear, Guy listened instead to the Sheriff's plans of inspecting the dragon's carcase and the remains of the village of Locksley. It was still raining, and yet everybody seemed eager to ride out and have a look. Almost everybody, that was. Down in the courtyard, humiliated by the fact that he had to beg both a sword and a horse from the Sheriff, Guy glanced around for Quenilda, hoping to see her smile or give him some other kind of encouragement, but she wasn't there.

Concerned, he guided his horse over to the Earl, and asked, "My lord, is Lady Quenilda well?"

"Quite well, Sir Guy. Why do you ask?" the Earl replied, but then he smiled and answered his own question. "You're wondering why she isn't riding out with us? She's already seen the dragon, and she wants to take a bath."

"Oh," Guy said, trying not to show his disappointment too obviously. "Of course, my lord."

Then the Sheriff came up on the Earl's other side and called for them to set out. Although Guy had hoped to catch the Earl on his own at some point during the ride, the Sheriff remained where he was the entire time. Sir Edmund had insinuated himself next to Lady Isolda, and Guy was left to choose between accompanying the Countess or falling back to ride alone. He chose the Countess and as they made polite, but stilted conversation, Guy realized that, unlike her daughter, she was rather shy. After a bit of thought, Guy complimented her on Quenilda, smiled as she smiled back, then let the conversation lapse. They rode on in more comfortable silence.

Sometime during the night, the rain had extinguished the fires, and the village was left half-burned. Guy hadn't expected to see anybody in the ruins, but there was a man drawing water from the well, and another prodding the charred remains of a house with his boot. As he and the other riders came closer, Guy was also afforded a view of a distinctly familiar covered wagon and a third man staring at the carcase of the dragon. Guy glanced back to the men near the well, close enough now to recognize them – and be recognized.

Drawing his sword, Guy gallopped forwards, shouting, "Guards! Arrest those men! Arrest them!"

The men had already started to run to the relative safety of the forest, leaving the wagon behind, but the guards, on horseback, were faster. They were also used to dealing with panicked, fleeing villagers, and swarmed out in one of their most-practised manoeuvers. Soon, they had surrounded each of the men, disarmed them and driven them back to where the Earl, the Sheriff, and the others had gathered next to the dragon.

Guy had gone after Osbert, and now he dismounted and jabbed his sword at Osbert's neck. The man flinched back, real fear in his eyes, and Guy smiled in cold pleasure.

"My lord, my lady," Guy said, addressing the Earl and the Countess in turn. "May I present, the men who kidnapped your daughter?"

The Earl dismounted as well, and came forward. Gently, he laid his hand on the blade of Guy's sword and gave it a slight push. Guy removed his sword from the man's neck, but kept it ready instead of sheathing it altogether.

"Osbert," the Earl said.

"We didn't hurt her!" the boy, Luke, protested, but the Earl silenced him with a look and turned back to Osbert. For several moments, they stared at each other without speaking, until the Earl finally asked, "Why?"

"I wouldn't have touched her if she hadn't come after Sir Guy," Osbert said. "And the boy's right, we didn't hurt her."

Under the Earl's stare, he added in a small voice, "We just kept her from running away to get help, that's all."

"And Sir Guy?" the Earl went on, his voice calm and patient.

Osbert's face changed then, turning red with anger. "My lord, he came too late! We'd all heard about the dreams, about the knight in black leather who'd kill the dragon, but he came _too late_! Why didn't he come earlier, why did Mathilda have to die?"

The Earl opened his mouth to speak, but Osbert went on. "You know what was worse, my lord? Worse than seeing my daughter die and your daughter live? It was finding out that it was Sir Guy of Gisborne who'd slain the dragon. _Sir Guy of Gisborne_, who lives here in Locksley, in this village and serves that Sheriff!"

_Lived_, Guy thought. _Served. Not anymore_. He glanced over to the Sheriff to see the man's reaction, but the Sheriff merely looked as bored as though he were at the Council of Nobles.

"Why was that worse?" the Earl asked.

"Because he was lord of the manor here when my sister died – the mother of my nephew, Luke! She starved to death in front of her sons, her family, because of them – Sir Guy of Gisborne and the Sheriff of Nottingham. And then her husband, Luke's father, got killed, too, because of them! That's what was worse! He leaves death and misery behind him everywhere he goes, and when he finally does something halfway decent, he rescues _your_ daughter and not mine! Do you think I could resist when I heard about the reward that Robin Hood was offering? Do you think I could just stand aside and not try to avenge what he'd done? I thought it must be a sign, an opportunity sent straight from heaven when Sir Guy of Gisborne left Throxenby on his own, instead of staying where it was safe and getting married."

"And you would have got away with it, too, if it hadn't been for that pesky girl chasing after Gisborne," the Sheriff put in smoothly, untouched by the man's harangue. "I simply can't imagine what she sees in you, Guy."

Guy didn't know, either, but he hoped that perhaps one day soon he could convince Quenilda to tell him what it was.

"I have also heard of Sir Guy's reputation," the Earl said. "But I know that people can change. I've seen it many times in my life. Unfortunately, most of them change for the worse. Grief can make a man bitter and reckless, for instance. So can greed." He paused and looked hard at Osbert. "Oh, yes, my daughter told me what you said, how I'd never offered you anything in exchange for Mathilda, and so you weren't going to let the chance of those fifty pounds pass you by. But I think you would have wanted that money even if Mathilda hadn't been chosen."

Osbert sneered silently.

"You were a decent man when I first knew you, but now you've changed for the worse," the Earl went on. "Was it grief, greed, or a combination of both? I don't know. But I do know that some people, when they change, manage to change for the better. I believe – I hope – we're witnessing a miracle of this kind in Sir Guy and it was this miracle that spurred my daughter to her … unexpected behaviour."

"Miracle!" Osbert hawked and spat at Guy's feet. Despite the warm feeling that welled up in him at the Earl's words, Guy jabbed his sword in the direction of the man's neck, just close enough to be threatening. The Earl, however, made a gesture meant to stop any more aggressive movements. "Osbert, thank you for explaining your reasons."

As Osbert accepted his gratitude with a grimace of disbelief and scorn, the Earl went on. "However, the fact remains, you've deliberately hurt a member of my family, all of you. And all of you will receive double the same hurt in return. Sir Guy, would you help me tie them up?"

"With pleasure," Guy growled. He crossed over to the wagon and said, "There should be some rope in here."

There was, although most of it was tangled in knots or cut into inconvenient lengths. As Guy was sorting out what they needed, Luke asked the Earl, "What are you going to do to us?"

"Just keep you from running away to get help," Guy mocked, letting go of the ropes and slamming his fist into the young man's face. Luke staggered, but managed to remain upright, and from the circle of onlookers, Guy heard a distinctly feminine gasp. Thinking for one single moment that it was Quenilda, Guy glanced up to see Isolda instead, regarding the scene with horror. Guy suddenly realized that, if he married Quenilda, Isolda would be his sister, too, and his present actions were only reinforcing every negative opinion that she'd ever had of him. Although the temptation was great, Guy did not strike Luke a second time.

"As I said, you'll receive double whatever you did to my daughter," the Earl reiterated.

"We never hurt her!" Luke protested, putting a hand to his face. "Not like that!"

"Then you'll only remained tied up for twice as long as you kept her," the Earl said.

Guy bound all the men hand and foot in exactly the way he himself had been tied, and when he'd finished with the last knots, he straightened up and asked, "Shall I put them in the back of the wagon, then?"

"If that's where they kept Quenilda, then, yes," the Earl said. "What about the poppy juice?"

Guy searched the wagon for the tiny bottle. It was suspiciously light, and he shook it, then peered inside. "My lord, it's empty."

The keg of ale which Quenilda had doctored with her own supply of poppy juice was empty, too, and the Earl said. "Well. They'll just have to remain awake all day, then."

"You'll want to post a guard to make sure they don't try to escape," Guy said, and the Earl nodded, then chose one from his own retinue. The guard received the Earl's instructions with a nod and an expression on his face that promised both intelligence and competence. He then helped Guy transport the men from the muddy ground to the floorboards of the wagon, and then, without asking, he took over the duty of driving the wagon back to Nottingham. Comparing the man favourably to the Sheriff's dullards, glad he wouldn't be working with them again, Guy took the reins of his horse to lead it behind his own.

When they arrived in the courtyard of the castle, the Earl ordered the wagon to be placed over to one side where the guard would have some protection from the elements.

"Are you sure you don't want to borrow my dungeons?" the Sheriff offered with a suggestive smile. "Much less comfortable, if you know what I mean."

"Thank you, but the punishment should fit the crime," the Earl replied. "Anyway, why bother to shift them when we'd only have to put them back again in the morning?"

Guy looked sharply at the Earl, but it was the Sheriff who asked, "In the morning?"

"We've enjoyed your hospitality and your help in finding my daughter, but now that she's been returned, there's no need for us to linger," the Earl explained.

The Sheriff pouted just a little. "I thought you'd stay longer, perhaps join me in a hunt? There's plenty of game in the forest … outlaws and such."

"Hunting's never been the sport for me," the Earl said, smiling diplomatically. "And alas, I have duties that I must attend to."

"Put them off a day or two," the Sheriff suggested, and glanced sideways at Guy. "That's the thing about duties – unlike people, they never run away. They never disappear and then come back when they're least expected and least wanted."

"No, that's exactly the problem, they don't," the Earl said. "They just get bigger and more complicated if you don't take care of them promptly. And speaking of duties, what do you think we ought to do with that dragon corpse? If we were closer to the ocean, I'd want to put it on a ship, sail it out beyond the sight of land, and bury it in the depths of the sea."

"If only you'd thought of doing that with the first dragon, hmmm?" the Sheriff asked, but the Earl refused to take the insult and simply agreed with him. "Yes. Well. As it is, I'd suggest burying this one very deep."

"And covering the grave with great stones," the Sheriff added, nodding. "In case anything nasty wants to come crawling back again, the way nasty things do." He looked around, saw Guy, then glanced deliberately beyond him. "Edmund, the peasants of Locksley obviously have nothing better to do than hang around here. Round them up and set them to work!"

"Right away, my lord," Sir Edmund replied, getting back up onto his horse. Guy watched him go, then glanced back to the Sheriff and caught a quick, triumphant look in his direction. Once, Guy would have felt uncertain, insulted, even threatened by the Sheriff's remarks and behaviour, but now he simply didn't care. He had other things to worry about. Lifting his nose slightly and looking down it at the shorter man, Guy turned and sauntered up the stairs into the castle.

xxxxx

**Historianic**: Thank you! I always look forward to your reviews! Yes, this was a turning point for Guy, letting him see exactly what else he was escaping from when he left Nottingham. I'm so glad you like Quenilda's family, too. (beams happily)

**GizzysGirl**: I had fun with the scene in the Great Hall and the Sheriff practically wrote himself. I'm so glad you enjoyed it. More love between Guy and Quen? I think you'll like the ending … (grin)

**LadyKate1**: Any review is welcome, at any time. I'm so glad you think everybody is in character, too.

**BeanieSgir**l: Yeah, the Sheriff isn't exactly Braveheart, is he? Thanks for the "brilliant."

**Cindy4806**: No, the Sheriff never praises Guy, does he? And when Guy came up with a good idea, the Sheriff was always quick to take the credit, too. Guy definitely needs a little love; that's why I wrote this fic. Thanks for your review!

**FebruarySong**: Welcome! I'm so glad you took a chance on my fic. I know exactly how you feel; I'm quite suspicious of OC's, too. I've tried very hard not to make Quenilda an obvious author-insert, or a Mary Sue – they are so insufferable! As for her name, I did research on names from this era, but I just couldn't name her Maud or Eleanor. When I saw the name Quenilda, however, I knew at once that was her! I'm glad you think I treated Robin Hood fairly, too; I don't really like him, but I try very hard to mirror what I saw in the show. Sorry, though, there won't be any reconciliation, at least not face to face, between him and Guy. As for Guy being surprised at positive emotions much too often, you're absolutely right! Thank you for pointing that out. I went back and edited the rest of the fic to make sure it didn't show up again. And feel free to ramble in your reviews at any time. I love reading what other people think about _anything_.

**Rinter**: Thanks for catching up! As I said before, any review is welcome at any time. I hope you enjoyed this latest installment, too.

Thank you as well to everybody who's lurking!


	13. Chapter 13

Here's the penultimate chapter! Please tell me if any of the dialogue sounds too sappy, too unrealistic, or out of character in any way. Thanks!

xxxxx

By dinner time, Guy still hadn't managed to speak to the Earl away from the Sheriff. Now, he sat quietly and ate while the others talked, trying to patiently bide his time until he could try again to get the Earl alone. The conversation moved from the weather, which was still rainy, to how the roads would be for travelling the next day – inevitably muddy. Despite it all, however, the Earl was still adamant about leaving the next morning.

"Speaking of mud, we had a bit of a mishap while digging a hole for the dragon," Sir Edmund spoke up. "One of the sides of the hole collapsed and buried two of the peasants."

"Did they get out alive?" Quenilda gasped, horrified.

Sir Edmund gave her a sharp look and a short reply. "No."

Sadly, the Countess shook her head. "So many deaths, so much tragedy!"

"And all the deaths were the wrong people! If only Robin Hood and his gang had been caught in the mudslide instead," the Sheriff murmured. "Since the man who slew two dragons obviously wasn't able to kill them, we might as well hope for a natural disaster."

Quenilda opened her mouth to speak, but the Countess quickly laid a hand over her daughter's, stopping the outburst before Quenilda could get out more than a strangled sound. Guy stared at her freshly-washed face, saw the way that the candlelight glinted off her shiny brown hair, and remembered how she'd stood up for him against Hood and all the outlaws, or against Osbert and his men. She might have been afraid, but she'd voiced her opinion nonetheless, and if she didn't do so now, it was only because her mother had asked her not to. He could definitely live with a woman who spoke her mind when she could, but was also obedient, at least most of the time.

Thinking of Hood, Quenilda, the dragon, and the Earl, Guy felt something connect inside his mind. He'd already kept his end of the bargain that he'd made with Hood, about not hunting the outlaws until after sundown that day. For his part, Hood had also kept his word and had even returned the horse to the stables that morning with the help of a young girl just barely old enough to lead the animal and claim she didn't know the man who had given her the reins along with an entire loaf of bread.

But the sun had set, the deal was over, and Guy was free to start searching for the outlaws, which he'd planned to do as soon as it was light the next day. Now, however, he realized he could not have it all. If he wanted to return to Throxenby with the Earl, as a prospective member of the family, he'd have to be ready to leave the next morning and wouldn't have any chance of confronting Hood at all. He'd have to make one final choice about what he wanted most.

Glancing back down the table at Quenilda, Guy was reminded of the question she'd posed after Guy had killed the second dragon. Had it become a stupid beast because it wanted revenge, or had it wanted revenge because it was a stupid beast? It was obvious that Quenilda didn't think much of getting revenge, and Guy feared he'd become little better than a stupid beast in her eyes if he insisted on going after Hood.

As though hearing his thoughts, Quenilda looked up directly into his gaze, then gave him a smile. Guy smiled back, and heard the Sheriff groan in disgust.

"Are you well, my lord Sheriff?" the Earl asked solicitously. "Is the food not to your liking?"

"The food is fine," the Sheriff barked. "I simply lost my appetite for a moment because I was thinking of lepers!"

"I wish there were a cure for leprosy," Quenilda said, answering the Sheriff in all innocence. "It's a terrible disease."

"Why bother with a cure when the merciful thing would be to kill them all?" the Sheriff demanded. "Just run a sword right through them and put them out of everybody's misery!"

He glanced at Guy, looking for a reaction, and Guy stared back, doing his best to look unconcerned, even bored. Marian's death was the one thing that he was still sensitive about, but he refused to let the Sheriff know that.

"Would you say that, my lord Sheriff, if you were the one afflicted with leprosy?" Quenilda challenged.

"Ivo said once that he had a cousin who had leprosy," Isolda spoke up. "He said he took his boots off one evening and all his toes dropped off, just like that!"

"Isolda, we don't –" the Countess began, but Thurstan said suddenly, "Shh, did you hear that? I heard something drop!"

There was a silence as everybody strained to hear. Thurstan said, "It's rolling this way!" then reached out to the table top and closed his hand over something that Guy couldn't see. Letting the tip of his thumb peek out from between two fingers, he showed it in the direction of the Sheriff and exclaimed, "Look, I've got your nose!"

Guy almost choked on a bite of bread. Almost everybody else at the table was laughing, too, including Sir Edmund. Even the Sheriff forced a smile, but the Countess sighed with disapproval and said, "Oh, father, don't!"

"Oh, father, do!" the Sheriff mocked. "I absolutely love making fun of lepers."

"Well, I'm sorry that you'll have to do it without me, at least for a few minutes," Thurstan said. "Sir Guy, you know this castle well. Would you be so kind as to lead me to the nearest privy?"

"Certainly," Guy said, and they both stood up. Outside of the great hall, Thurstan asked, "What else does leper stand for?"

"What?"

"The Sheriff isn't only talking about people with leprosy, is he? He means something else."

"Oh. Women," Guy explained, remembering how the Sheriff used to refer to Marian as "your leper friend." It seemed more cruel now than it had at the time.

"Yes. That makes sense." Thurstan was quiet for a moment, then remarked, "He just can't stop it, can he, stabbing you with words?"

Guy shrugged, somewhat uncomfortable at having to admit, "He's always done that."

"Has he? I got the impression he's trying to punish you."

"Punish me?" Guy asked. "For what?"

"For leaving him," Thurstan said as they approached the privy. "Putting him to the inconvenience of finding somebody else to take your place, and then discovering that he can't necesssarily put Sir Edmund down to make himself feel bigger, or at least not as easily as you."

Guy had never considered that before, but quickly realized how true it was. He also knew with certainty that he was no longer prepared to suffer it any longer than he had to. No matter what happened, he wouldn't be staying here. In fact, there wasn't even any reason for him to go after Hood now, except perhaps personal satisfaction. When Guy had left Throxenby, killing the outlaw had been uppermost in his mind, but now, everything had changed, and things that had once seemed important had since become worthless in his eyes. Yes, defeating Hood would allow Guy to oust Sir Edmund and take his place again as the Sheriff's lieutenant, but why should he bother? And as for personal satisfaction, Guy knew that if he let the opportunity pass by to join himself to the Earl's household, he'd be left with nothing. The gratification of having killed his enemy wouldn't warm his bed at night, or give him anything to look forward to during the day.

Once he'd made his decision to forget out the outlaw and concentrate instead on Quenilda and her family, Guy was surprised at how easily Hood slid out of his thoughts. It was as though he'd laid down a weight he hadn't known he'd been carrying, and the loss of it made him stand taller and feel more cheerful than he'd felt for a long time.

At his side, Thurstan sighed and said, "That's a relief."

"Yes," Guy agreed, but he was certain that they weren't thinking about the same thing.

On their way back, they ran into the Earl, and after a quick check to make sure they were alone in the corridor, Guy quickly took advantage of the situation. "My lord, if I may ask a favour?"

"Certainly, Sir Guy," the Earl replied, not sounding astonished or inconvenienced at all.

"My lord, may I speak with you this evening, in private? I'd be grateful if you could spare me a few minutes."

"Come to my chamber after the meal," the Earl said. "We'll take care of Osbert and his men, and after that, I'll spare you all the time you need."

xxxxx

After the dinner had finally ended, Guy went out to the courtyard with the Earl. Of course, Osbert and his men had been trying to get away, though they hadn't quite managed to untie all the knots yet. But when Guy pulled them out of the wagon and discovered their attempts, it was only Luke who struck out and tried to escape. Osbert and Hugh both seemed to have given up, remaining silent and sullen as Guy gave Luke the few required blows that would bring him back into submission. Remembering his own tactics of pretending to be weaker and more humiliated than he actually was, Guy kept a close eye on them all the same, but the only sign of life that he saw in them was when they gulped as much ale as they could get. Guy was tempted to let them have more, to let them get drunk and fall asleep so that they'd be less trouble, but he was also impatient to get away to talk to the Earl. At last, the men had been taken care of and were tied up again in the back of the wagon, the new guard had received instructions from the Earl to keep a closer watch during the night, and Guy and the Earl were free to go back inside.

"Will you join me for some wine?" the Earl asked, pouring some into a goblet and extending it towards Guy. Guy held it without drinking, and watched as the Earl sipped from his own goblet, looking questioningly at Guy over its rim.

"My lord," Guy said, trying to keep it simple and not let his tongue trip because of any overeager thoughts. "I would like to offer my services to you."

"Your services, Sir Guy?" the Earl asked.

"I am a knight, and I have recently been a master-at-arms," Guy said. "I regret that the only sword I have to offer you is borrowed, but I can offer my experience, my strength, and my loyalty. And –"

He hesitated, and the Earl prompted, "And?"

Guy blurted out, "I know you'd treat me well, my lord, and I would do anything and everything to deserve it."

"Did you offer this devotion to the Sheriff?" the Earl asked gently. Ashamed, Guy looked away and shook his head. "No, my lord."

"No, I didn't think so. I wouldn't have done so, either," the Earl mused.

"But I gave him my loyalty, my lord," Guy said, a little bitter when he remembered how the Sheriff had treated that loyalty.

"Yes, he told me. We spoke earlier to-day, among other things, about you. He went to great pains to point out how incompetent you were and how saintly he was for putting up with you for all those years. To tell the truth, Sir Guy, I began to wonder if we were discussing the same man," the Earl mused. "But then, most men reflect their lords, the way a mirror shows the person who looks into it. I'd heard of your reputation, before you came to us, and I've been watching you ever since then. You're not completely what I'd expected. As I said to Osbert, you've changed for the better. In fact, in the right circumstances, I believe you'd be capable of changing even more, and I'd be very pleased if you could find those right circumstances as a knight in my household."

He beamed down at Guy, and Guy smiled back, feeling a rush of relief as cool and refreshing as icy water on a hot day. Then the Earl lifted his goblet and said, "To miracles, Sir Guy."

"To miracles, my lord," Guy echoed, and drank. The wine tasted of hope, but he let himself take only a swallow, then put the goblet on the table next to the pitcher. Removing his dagger, Guy also unbuckled his sword belt and laid both items carefully on the floor as he knelt down in front of the Earl. He had just placed his hands together, palm to palm as though in prayer, when the man said, "Stop."

Guy froze, terrified that the Earl had suddenly changed his mind and did not want to receive his oath after all. His fears did not decrease when the Earl reached out, took his forearm instead of his clasped hands, and gave a little tug as a signal that Guy should get up again.

"My lord?" Guy asked as he got to his feet.

"I'm flattered that you would give me your oath here and now, but we will do it properly in a church, with witnesses," the Earl said. "Preferably with a holy relic of some kind that you can swear on."

Obviously seeing Guy's confusion, the Earl went on. "Is this how you gave your oath to the Sheriff?"

"Yes, my lord," Guy replied. "I apologize."

The Earl smiled. "There's nothing to apologize for, Guy. He should have known better, not you. As I said, we'll do it properly, back in Throxenby, but until then, we'll both act as though you've already sworn, how's that?"

It did not escape Guy that the Earl had not used his title, and he knew it was a sign of acceptance. "You are too generous, my lord."

"Once you get to know me better, you'll find I'm not." Smiling, the Earl handed Guy his goblet of wine, then drank from his own. Guy took a cautious sip, gathering his courage, then said, "There's one more thing, my lord."

The Earl lowered his goblet and waited with a pleasantly expectant expression on his face.

"I have changed, my lord. I hope it's for the better. In any case, I've had the chance to reconsider some of the decisions I recently made. I would like, that is—" Guy took a deep breath. "I have reason to believe that my offer would not be entirely repulsive …"

He watched the Earl closely, but the man's expression did not change. Encouraged, Guy blurted out the rest. "I would like to ask your permission to ask your daughter to marry me." In case there was any doubt which daughter he meant, he hastily added, "Lady Quenilda."

"Well," the Earl said. "Before I say anything, Guy, I would like to ask, why did you refuse her before?"

"Because I was afraid," Guy admitted, looking away and waiting for the Earl to laugh or make a cutting remark. When the man didn't speak, Guy dared to go on. "Afraid that I would get hurt again. And –"

"And what?" the Earl prompted gently.

"And afraid that I would hurt her," Guy said. In the ensuing silence, he raised his eyes from the floor and looked at the Earl. "If you say no, my lord, I won't bring it up again—"

"Wait," the Earl said, and Guy stopped. The Earl asked, "You're not afraid anymore of hurting her?"

Clenching his free hand to a fist, Guy looked down at it, remembered what he was capable of, and said, "I would try my utmost not to, but if I do, then please … just kill me."

The Earl lifted his eyebrows and said simply, "Well."

"Would you like me to go, my lord?" Guy asked, offering to do much more than simply leave the chamber, but the Earl waved away the question and asked one of his own. "Oh, by the way, what about Robin Hood?"

Guy answered truthfully. "My lord, I thought I'd leave him for the Sheriff and Sir Edmund to deal with."

"You don't want revenge any more?"

Shaking his head, Guy tried to put his newfound realizations into words. "The dragon that came here wanted revenge on me, my lord. It destroyed an entire village, and ultimately died trying to get that revenge. I would rather choose life and – and the creation of new life – instead of death and destruction."

The Earl lifted his goblet in acknowledgement, his eyes and his mouth both smiling. "Guy, to put it mildly, that answer is not entirely repulsive to me. That is, you not only have my permission to ask Quenilda to marry you, you also have my blessing."

xxxxx

**vivalarevolution**: No problem; I do understand real life! Thanks for commenting whenever you can. You're getting more and more attached to _Edmund_? I think you must mean the Earl – at least I hope you do! And I hope you enjoy the rest of the story – you can guess from this chapter that Guy and Quenilda are definitely going to get closer.

**FebruarySong**: Ramble away, I love a good ramble! And as I've said at the top, this is the penultimate chapter, so there's only one more. I hope you'll enjoy the way I've resolved the romance between Guy and Quenilda. Thanks so much for your comments!

**GizzysGirl**: Thanks for taking the time to read and review, despite the time crunch, and I'm glad you liked this chapter. I think you'll like the next one as well.

**BeanieSGirl**: Yes, I put in that line of dialogue straight from Scooby Doo – I just thought the Sheriff would say that kind of thing. And you're right, Guy really deserved much much more than to go back to the Sheriff and his old life. I'll venture a guess that you'll enjoy the next chapter, too.

**Cindy4806**: Well, since you wanted Guy to find his chance at love, I think you must have enjoyed this last chapter, and will certainly be liking the next one! Thanks for your comments!

Thank you to all lurkers, too!


	14. Chapter 14

Well, here we are at the last part. As always, any kind of comment is welcome. If you think that Guy or anybody else is out of character, or if the dialogue is so sappy that it makes you groan, please tell me! Also, I deliberately did not give a name to the sister mentioned, so you can make of her what you will. I hope you enjoy!

xxxxx

Still reeling pleasantly from his interview with the Earl, Guy walked down the corridor towards Quenilda's chamber. The Earl had sent one of his servants to fetch the Countess and Isolda from where they had been together in Quenilda's room, and they had gone past him a moment ago. Although Guy was mentally testing variations of the question "Will you marry me?" he'd still noticed the quizzical looks they had shot in his direction. For a brief moment, he wondered how they would receive the news, then went quickly back to rehearsing. If he didn't do it right, Quenilda might well say no, and they wouldn't be welcoming him into the family after all.

There was a scream from inside Quenilda's chamber that made the hair on the back of Guy's neck stand up in horror. Drawing his sword, Guy rushed to the door and swiftly pushed it open, prepared to defend Quenilda from whatever threat had made her jump up onto the bed and screech hysterically.

"Eva! _Eva_! Oh, Sir Guy! Kill it, kill it!"

"What?" Guy shouted. From the way Quenilda was clinging to the bedpost and looking frantically down at the floor, he expected to see nothing less than a poisonous snake, a wolf, a bear, or perhaps even Osbert hiding under the bed and waiting for a chance to pounce, but nothing of the sort was visible from where he stood. Cautiously, he moved closer. "Where?"

"There it goes!" Quenilda screeched, squirming in agitation while keeping a firm grip on the post. "There it goes, see? Kill it, oh, kill it, Sir Guy, _kill that mouse!_"

"Mouse?" Guy glanced down incredulously and saw a tiny brown rodent scuttling towards the open door, then lifted his head again to look at Quenilda. Her face was distorted with a degree of terror that Guy had never seen before, not in the Holy Land, not even during any of his visits to any of Nottingham's outlying villages.

"Don't just stand there, kill it!" Quenilda shrieked. Guy spun around and swung his sword. The tip of it hit the stone floor, a single spark flew up, and the mouse dashed away in the opposite direction, directly towards where Guy stood. Without thinking, he lifted his foot and stomped down.

"Did you get it?" Quenilda cried from behind him. "Is it still alive?"

"What's all the commotion?" Alarmed by the screams, Quenilda's family appeared in the open doorway, and the Earl, the Countess, and Isolda all watched solemnly as Guy lifted up his boot.

"Ugh," said Isolda, wrinkling her nose as Guy scraped the remains of the rodent off the bottom of his boot onto the floor. "Not that mouse thing again, Quenilda!"

The Countess didn't say anything, merely made a motion to step into the room with her arms outstretched, but to Guy's surprise, the Earl caught her and pulled her away. Isolda lingered a moment longer, until a hand gripped her shoulder, and then she disappeared as well. Quenilda didn't seem to have noticed either their presence or their absence, merely kept asking, "Is it dead? Is it dead?"

Realizing that he was the only one left to answer, Guy said, "Yes, it's dead."

If he'd expected Quenilda to calm down at the news, he was disappointed, although her shriek was a little less ear-piercing than before. "Get rid of it! Throw it out the window!"

Guy looked around, hoping that Eva had noticed her mistress' screams, too, and would come running just in time to clean up the mess, but the doorway remained clear. For lack of anything else in the room, and wishing he still had his gloves, he used the blade of his sword to scoop up the mangled corpse, and carried it carefully to the window. He had to open the shutters with one hand, which was awkward, but at last he was able to fling the dead mouse out into the darkness of the courtyard.

"There, it's gone," he announced.

"Check the room, make sure there aren't any more!" Quenilda cried, still gripping the bedpost with white-knuckled hands. "Look under the bed – use your sword just to make certain!"

Guy inspected all the corners of the room and prodded the darkness underneath the bed with his sword. Getting back to his feet again, he sheathed the blade, then held out both arms, inviting Quenilda to let him lift her down. "It's safe. There are no mice or anything else in here."

"You're certain?" she asked breathlessly.

"I'm certain," he replied.

"And you've thrown the dead one out of the window?" She looked as though she were relaxing a little, and Guy answered patiently, "Yes."

"And it was really dead? It's not going to come back to life and crawl back up again, is it?" She glanced over to the open window, and Guy went back to pull the shutters tightly closed. When he turned around, Quenilda slowly let go of the bedpost, looking as though she was finally ready to step onto the floor, and Guy strode over to help. But instead of lifting her down and letting go, he gave in to the temptation of wrapping his arms around her and hugging her to his chest.

"It's really dead," he assured the top of her head. "Not even the healing spring could bring that mouse back to life!"

Hugging him back, Quenilda gave a shaky little laugh. Her heart was hammering in her chest and he could feel every frantic heartbeat against his own ribs as she clung tightly to him. At first, Guy thought she had started to laugh for real, but then he realized that she was actually sobbing. He slackened his hold, in case she wanted to let go and whirl away, but she gripped him even tighter. Putting his arm back around her where it belonged, Guy reached up to stroke her hair, and whispered "Sshh, sshhh, it's all right."

Trembling under his embrace, Quenilda buried her face in his chest, and it was not until the fabric of his shirt was quite wet that she finally calmed down somewhat.

"I'm sorry," she finally sniffed.

"For what?" Guy asked.

"Getting your clothes wet … and everything else." Quenilda sniffed again, not looking at him, but not letting go, either. "I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be," Guy said, stroking her hair again. "It's all right."

"I don't know why I reacted like this," Quenilda murmured. "Albreda would probably say it was delayed shock or something, and I've seen it in other people, but I just couldn't stop myself! You must think I'm very silly."

In an attempt to communicate that he understood, or was at least prepared to try, Guy said, "My sister was afraid of dogs."

"Did she have a bad experience when she was young?" Quenilda asked.

"A very big dog bit her once, at least, that's what she said. It might have been a small one. But after that, she would never go near them, and she used to cry, or run away in a panic whenever they got too close to her." Guy didn't mention that he'd teased her with a canine once, and that she'd reacted very similarly to what he'd just seen with Quenilda. But he had no desire to tease Quenilda that way, not ever, and now he even understood exactly why his father had taken a switch to his backside when he'd caught him.

Quenilda blotted her eyes on the shoulder of her own sleeve. "And did she ever get over it?"

"She died of a fever before she was ten," Guy said, and Quenilda gasped. "I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago," Guy said. "I haven't thought of her for years now."

"I'm still sorry," Quenilda said. After a moment, she went on. "I had a bad fever once, when I was about five. They cut off my hair to help cool me down. And later, when I'd recovered, but my hair was still short, we had visitors in the keep, and I had to sleep on a pallet on the floor with Isolda. I had a very bad dream that night, that I was very small, the size of a mouse, and there was a huge mouse, bigger than a cat – bigger than a dog, even. It grabbed me by the head and wanted to drag me away – and when I woke up, there really was a mouse there, chewing on my hair! Isolda said it was trying to make a nest and she thought it looked so funny! She was laughing and wouldn't shoo it away. I sat up, but it was still on my head, clinging to my hair, and I had to get it off by myself! Then it bit me in the hand, so I dropped it, and it fell down into my lap. I shook it onto the pallet, but then it ran right up my nightshirt and got as high as my knee!"

Guy tried unsuccessfully to stifle his mirth.

"You can laugh," Quenilda said with a resigned sigh. "Everybody else in the family does, even Grandfather, a little. I would, too, if it were somebody else. But ever since then, I've been terrified of mice, and I get Eva to check my room every night before I lay down to sleep, just in case."

"Does she poke a sword under the bed, too?" Guy asked.

"No, a broom," Quenilda said. "And if she finds any mice, she has to kill them. Once, she dumped a dead one down the privy, and I had a nightmare that night that it came back to life and climbed back up to bite me when I sat down. After that, I made her throw them out the window."

Guy truly laughed at that, and Quenilda sighed again. "I thought I was getting over it, now that I'm not a child anymore, and then it had to happen right here, right now, right in front of _you_! I'm so embarrassed! I wanted you to think that I was strong and brave – I didn't want you to see me like this."

"You saw me cry," Guy reminded her. "And everybody is afraid of something."

Pushing away from his chest so that she could look up into his eyes, Quenilda asked, "What are you afraid of, Sir Guy?"

Guy looked down, and tenderly rearranged a strand of her hair. "I'm afraid that if I ask you to marry me, that you'll say no."

"And now that I've said yes, you're not afraid of anything anymore." Quenilda smiled so broadly up at him that Guy forgot about contradicting her and simply smiled back.

"You said yes?" he asked, just to hear her say it again.

"Yes, I said yes," she repeated. Encouraged, Guy bent his head slowly towards her, to give her a chance to turn away if she wanted, but she didn't, and so he kissed her.

They were still kissing when Guy heard someone else enter the chamber and give a short, sharp cough. When he and Quenilda did not separate immediately, Eva came closer and said, "Forgive me, my lady, but it's time for you to go to bed. We'll be making an early start to-morrow, what with the flogging and all."

"Flogging?" Quenilda tore her lips abruptly away from Guy's and stared at her servant in alarm. "Who? And why?"

"Well, my lady, it's a strange story," Eva began, then stopped.

"What's strange about it?" Quenilda asked, and when Eva glanced quickly in Guy's direction, she urged, "Please tell us!"

"It all started when I was down in the courtyard giving my Richard a little goodnight kiss, to get him through the cold, lonely night of guarding that wagon with Osbert and his men in it," Eva began. "Something hit me on the shoulder, and gave me the fright of my life! One of the Sheriff's guards came over with a torch to see what was going on, and it seemed that somebody had thrown a dead mouse out of an upper window!"

Guy and Quenilda glanced at each other, each trying to hide a smile, and Eva asked, "Was that you, my lady?"

"It was Sir Guy," Quenilda said. Guy thought that Eva looked slightly disappointed, as though having hoped that Quenilda had dealt with the mouse all by herself, but then she went on, "Well, because of that, the guard had his torch there, as I said, and then we all saw that Osbert and his men were trying to escape!"

Eva opened the chest at the end of the bed and took out a nightgown as she spoke. "I have to say, my lady, that I managed to catch Osbert myself, with only a little help from my Richard, and I gave him what he deserved for treating you the way he did!"

From the way she was twisting and even punching the cloth to illustrate her story, Guy wondered if he would recognize Osbert the next time he saw him.

"Eva!" Quenilda exclaimed. Looking down at what her hands were doing, Eva stopped and smoothed the nightgown out on the bed. "Oh, dear. Forgive me, my lady. You know I don't always let my emotions run away with me, but these last few days would have tried the patience of a saint! And you know well that I'm no saint."

"Oh, Eva, I wouldn't have you any other way," Quenilda said lovingly, then asked, "And what about the others? Luke and Hugo?"

"Oh, the guards got those two." Eva returned to the chest and brought out a small jar. After taking the lid off and digging out a fingerful of salve, she took Quenilda by the hand and massaged the salve into the rope burns around her wrist. "Can you imagine, my lady, they'd chewed right through the ropes, with their teeth, like rats! They were planning to run away to join Robin Hood's gang and they wanted to escape the castle by sliding down one of the privies."

"Ugh," Quenilda said, wrinkling her nose, and Eva nodded, then switched hands. "Yes. With a stink like that, they wouldn't have needed dogs to find them – but they didn't get that far. Anyway, my Richard went up to tell the Earl, and he came down, and the Sheriff, too. The Earl said that they could have gone on their way as free men, and been forgiven, if they'd just waited out their punishment, but since they were so eager to become outlaws, he'd have them flogged and sent into the forest in the morning. Then he let the Sheriff lock them up in the dungeon for the night."

"I don't like floggings," Quenilda said, looking unhappy. "I wish they hadn't tried to run away, so I wouldn't have to watch."

"You're much too tender-hearted, my lady," Eva said. Quenilda lowered her gaze and murmured, "I know. I just can't stand seeing anyone in pain."

"Well, if you need to, my lady, you can hold my hand," Eva offered, and Quenilda nodded. Eva smiled quickly, then went back to the chest to put the pot away again.

"My lady," Guy said, "I could ask your father if you truly have to attend."

Eagerness shone through the glum expression on Quenilda's face for just a moment before disappearing again. "The Earl has always insisted that we attend public punishments, Sir Guy, but I do thank you for your concern." Then, shyly, she asked, "Perhaps I could hold your hand, too?"

"Of course, my lady," Guy said, wishing he'd thought to offer before she'd had to ask.

Approaching with a comb, Eva said, "Well, even if there weren't a flogging, you'd still have to get up early to-morrow, my lady. Now say goodnight to Sir Guy and let's get you ready for bed."

"Good night, Sir Guy," Quenilda said. Her voice sounded obedient, but her eyes stared longingly at him.

Guy took her face gently in both hands, bent close so that their noses were almost touching, and said in a low voice, "My lady, I love your tender heart. I wouldn't have you any other way."

The light returned to Quenilda's face as she smiled, and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Guy, I love your dragonslayer heart and your mousekiller heart and the heart inside you that cries for mistakes, and –"

They started kissing before she had finished speaking, and Guy was only vaguely aware that she was still trying to say something. The fractured, muffled words could have been "I wouldn't have you any other way," but he wasn't completely certain. Giving up her attempt at verbal communcation, Quenilda concentrated solely on the kissing, and if Guy was afraid of anything at that moment, it was only that she might stop.

xxxxx

**HotchPotchMiss**: Thank you. Yes, it is hard to keep Guy in character when I'm also trying to show that he's changing for the better. I'm glad you like Thurstan!

**Historianic**: Thank you so much! I am going to be quite selfish now and say that I can't get enough of your gushing comments. Sometimes you put into words things that I only subconsciously realized and hadn't yet vocalized. Thank you again!

**LOVEAUSTEN**: I was glad to see that you commented – thanks!

**FebruarySong**: Many people think that "penultimate" means more awesome than awesome? Dearie me! As for fics about redeemed Guy as a parent, and killing Guy off in the series, I think that Guy is only interesting as long as he's not getting what he wants. Richard Armitage said something similar in an interview, and I agree; once he gets what he wants, there's no place left for him to go, no more room for him to develop. As for the series, I would have liked to have seen more reactions from both the outlaws and especially the villagers to the way Guy eventually joined the gang. I wish they'd shown the villagers taking the opportunity to get back at Guy for the way he'd treated them before becoming an outlaw, or at least trying to, only for Robin to come in and save him. It would have been more realistic than them just accepting it as meekly as they did. Well, it seems that your rambles are contagious! I'm so glad you liked the chapter – do you really think that Quenilda is beautiful? I remember describing her as plain, but with a nice smile. And to answer your question, I don't see any sequels to the this story, sorry, but thank you anyway for your enthusiastic comments!

**vivalarevolution**: So glad you like Thurstan – he's my favourite OC, except for Quenilda of course. And I'm glad you liked the exchange between Guy and his soon-to-be father-in-law. I hope you liked this next bit, too!

**BeanieSGirl**: As I said before, it's hard to balance Guy's development and yet keep him recognizable as the character we know and love from the series. I hope I haven't stumbled too badly, and that you enjoyed this last part, too.

**GizzysGirl**: Do you really have to wonder at how things will turn out? (wink)

**LadyKate1**: I like your suggestion of Guy thinking of Quenilda as "outspoken but not stubborn," in place of "obedient." I wish I'd thought of that while I was writing – I should change that in the final draft that's up on my personal website. I don't mind criticism at all, so go ahead with more, whenever you feel the urge! I also liked your comment about this being a "lighter" Guy than what we saw in series 3. Yes, I daresay he is.

**karen747**: Thank you! I'm so glad you appreciated the part about the dragon eating Kate, and thank you also for coming out of Lurkerdom to comment!

**Cindy4806**: Thanks for the "brilliant." As for the wedding – sorry. The story just came to a natural ending here. I hope you weren't too disappointed.

Thank you, everybody, for reading and commenting! I really appreciate every line of feedback and every review, every bit of criticism, even every hit!


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